


One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer

by hit_the_books, Zeryx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bondage, Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Pagan Gods, Rimming, Season/Series 09, Self-Worth Issues, Switch Castiel, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Top Sam Winchester, Voyeurism, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 69,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5391317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a week of silence post-Gadreel eviction, Sam and Cas call Dean in to help with a case. Team Free Will is reunited in the Windy city as the body count piles up from a haunted arcade, but things are both stranger and far more complicated than they seem. The shadow of someone they knew in the past has a long reach and a weird ally; spells, gunfire, ugly history and blood follow. In the middle of this strife, will they find forgiveness and each-other? </p><p>A season 9 divergent AU that takes place before “Road trip” and Dean getting the Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Zeryx:  
> Thanks to everyone who made this possible, especially our fantastic beta reader, [a diamond](http://archiveofourown.org/users/a_diamond), who kicked my ass all over the place about my terrible grammar. Special thanks also to [wattlebird](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wattlebird) for helping with some mistakes in an early draft. Also you can blame Milli for this turning into a wincestiel fic when it started out as us bemoaning the lack of sastiel fic out there! We were all "fuck it, let's make our own" and then this happened. 
> 
> hit_the_books:  
> When we set out to start writing this back in the summer, Zeryx and I were aiming for a Sastiel case fic. I would say sorry, if it weren’t for the fact that when the first Wincestiel scene started to happen—out of that whole organic process of the imagination that makes up a lot of fiction—I said to Zeryx to keep Dean there when she asked me if he should go. And so OBOSOB became a Wincestiel fic. It’s my fault this isn’t Sastiel, and while I love that ship, I also love this one too.  
> a_diamond: you’re star, thanks for all your help.
> 
> This fic is FINISHED, daily updates are coming until it's all up.
> 
> hit_the_books 23 March 2016: The additional fanart in chapter 1 was commissioned from [Aredhel](http://0-aredhel-0.tumblr.com/) c:

“Dean, we got a job.” Sam drums the fingers of one hand on his thigh, sitting on a lumpy mattress, cellphone flush to his ear. Cas is in front of him, looking out the window at the Lakeview district.

Dean’s voice comes a long ways away, low through the speaker. “That’s good you’re keeping busy, Sammy. Shouldn’t you really be resting, though?”

“Maybe… look, Cas and I, we really need your help.”

Dean sighs on the other end of the line. “I told you, I’m not going to drag anybody else through the muck. I come in on this, that’s all that’s gonna happen. My crap’s just going to screw everyone over.”

“Dean you’re not—you know, poison or whatever. Look, we’ve saved the world a couple of times, alright? So, just come here, okay?” Sam squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out the horrible paisley print of the motel’s curtains; the silhouette of Castiel advancing burns white behind his eyelids.

Another sigh. “Where’s here, exactly?”

“Chicago.” 

“That’s a pretty damn long shot from the bunker. What the hell is so bad it warranted you and Cas going all the way to the Windy City? Wanting some good ol’ greasy deep dish to get your strength back?”

Sam’s tone is low, words so quiet Dean has to strain to hear them. “Kids getting hurt and dying. Lots of them.”

Dean swears. “Lemme talk to Cas.”

Wordlessly, Sam hands the phone to Castiel, who has been hovering nearby anxiously, stare unrelenting this entire time.

“Cas, what’s the—what’s the deal with Sam? Is he, you know, good to go? And how about you? Is your grace still doing you okay?”

Castiel sighs through his nose. “Sam is fine… still recovering. Certainly well enough for ordinary footwork. “

“Cas….” Dean can’t help remembering the angel’s expression when he’d said they couldn’t work together back at the bar. It’d nearly ripped his guts out. The look they shared before Dean left the pier post-Gadreel hadn’t been much better.

“It’s fine. I’m not as strong as when I first came back, but I’m alright. For the time being.”

“You know that—that stuff I said. I meant it, but… I kind of didn’t mean it. Not all the way. I wanted Sam safe while he was getting better, not working more cases. And I can’t… I can’t go home again. The last time I was in, it was to grab Kevin for his funeral pyre.”

“I know, Dean. Please, assist us. There have been an alarming number of complications with this case; it doesn’t appear to be an ordinary haunting.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “You had me at “dead kids,” buddy.”  
  


***  
 

Sam pauses, running a hand over the old knob of the joystick. Joust. Well, if that doesn’t bring up a lot of memories. Cas is looking around beside him, and Dean is nearly gawking, lit up like a kid in a candy store.

“Wow, look at all this old crap.”

“No kidding, hey, let’s play Street fighter II!”

“I dunno Sam, crap.” Dean digs through his pockets for quarters.

Castiel walks over to the token machine. “These games? They appear to require tokens. Perhaps change from the counter is in order.” He heads over to the worn, black, scratched up desk that has a bored looking teenager behind it. Said teenager is playing Candy crush on his phone, judging by the annoying noises Sam can hear.

Dean rubs his hands together. “I know we’re on a case, but damn. Not many places like these exist anymore.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, well…. I don’t think the hauntings are helping any.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You don’t say. Well, whatever.”

Cas returns with a double handful of quarters, the coins barely staying contained in his long fingers. “Is this sufficient?”

Dean’s eyes light up, and Sam crowds closer. “Yeah, should do nicely. C’mon.”

Just then, one of the machines in the corner shakes. A piece of the overlay comes loose and peels off, revealing a different word beneath. Cas looks at it thoughtfully. “Perhaps the presence is already making itself known.”

Sam frowns thoughtfully. “Maybe…”

Dean shrugs. “Could just be under an air vent and old. Well, let’s check it out.”

Walking cautiously towards the aging game cabinet, Sam thinks he recognizes the older title underneath. “Pac Man?” The least conspicuous game that could be in that place, but in theory that wasn’t what was currently installed on it. The cabinet stops shaking and Sam looks at the label over the top. It’s not something he recognizes, the design new and modern or rather modern take on retro. The name is obscured, with only “tron” at the end readable.

“Can I help you?” Behind them stands the manager, his name badge declares him as such. Terry is short, but stocky, unshaven and dressed in jeans and an old gaming t-shirt.

“Was this cabinet Pac Man?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, “was” being the operative word here. That’s one of the “-tron” systems.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Tron as in the film?”

The manager chuckles. “Oh, God no. No, this a cabinet that’s been retrofitted and upgraded. There’s a collection of independently developed games from some of the local games devs installed on there. There’s one cabinet like this in Winnipeg, the one here and one over in England. Each has got games mainly from local developers and a few from out of state too.”

“That’s actually pretty cool.” Sam smiles.

Dean’s brows knit together. "They uh, have wiring problems? Go down often?”

“Nah,” Terry replies. “Just the outside is old. The new guts are actually pretty sturdy.”

Cas corners around the cabinet, ostensibly checking for air vents and such. Sotto voce he whispers to Sam, while Dean and Terry are chatting. “I cannot find an air vent nor a ready explanation for why the cabinet shook. We shall have to return after they have closed.”

Sam nods, leads Cas over to a MAME cabinet that runs nearly a thousand games. “I’m guessing you don’t have much experience with this, huh Cas?”

Cas peers between Sam and the cabinet. “No.”

Sam smiles, wide-open and genuine. “Well, let’s start small. Let’s try Pong.” He slots a few tokens in. “This is a lot like table tennis….”  
  


***  
  


SOME HOURS LATER

“Ow! Dean! Elbow!”

“Christ, quit your cryin’, Samantha!” Dean is on top of Sam’s knees as he boosts him up to the window to get in.

“I don’t understand why you don’t use mister living statue over there to boost you.”

Dean wriggles up over the window. “‘cause you’re the tallest.” He kicks Sam in the temple with his shoe tip before disappearing out of sight. “Now help Cas up!” he stage whispers.

Sam blows hair off of his already sweaty forehead with a huff. “Alright, your turn.” He laces his fingers back together to form a bowl, rests it on his right thigh as he uses the grimy brick wall as a partial brace. Cas approaches him with solemn and unwavering determination, graceful and predatory as a shark, until—he over-balances and Sam gets a faceful of angel junk.

“Gah!” Sam’s shoulders hit the wall hard, and Cas gropes up at the ledge. They are precariously balanced as Cas inadvertently teabags Sam. Sam’s hair stands on end. _This is just not my night._ Cas, too, accidentally kicks Sam, clipping him in the ear with a toe as Dean hauls the angel the rest of the way inside.

Something glints off in the distance, but Sam can’t be sure what it was. Huh. Well, probably nothing. “Dean, little help?” Sam hears his brother snickering as Sam just waits exposed out in the open. Of all the lousy times to start playing a prank—Cas is over the edge of the window, reaching down for Sam.

“Dean.” Cas’s lips are tight in censure. “I really do believe there is work to be done?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Sam grabs on and gets leverage with his feet on the brick wall as he half hops up, Cas pulling him the rest of the way. It’s dark inside, and quite a few of the machines are still on, washing the walls in neon splashes. The distant droning sound of many combined demo clips playing at once is strangely lulling. Sam and Dean space out a little; Cas is standing still with his head cocked to one side, pointing an ear up and towards the back of the main area. He walks over slowly, the brothers flanking him.

“Here… this wall is hollow.” Cas taps on the wall, which betrays itself with a telltale hollow thud.

Dean’s eyebrows raise. “Well whaddya’ know. Think this used to be a gin joint?”

“You mean like rum runners, hiding out in the basement? I guess the age adds up.”

Dean looks badly excited. “Does this mean we get to break out the sledgehammer?”

“Jesus Dean, put your boner away. No.”

“You’re no fun, Sammy.” Dean nearly pouts. “Well, now what?”

Castiel replies, “Logic would dictate we ascertain independently that this was formerly a smuggler’s storehouse. Blueprints would be useful as well… if there are bodies down there, the number of them buried is unknown.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, you’re right. No telling how many ghosts are lousing up the joint.”

Sam frowns. “If they’re mixed into the foundation, we’re really in trouble.”

Dean scowls. “I knew this place was too good to be true. This is why we can’t have nice things, Sammy.”

Cas looks thoughtful and Sam shrugs. “Because of ghosts?”

“Because everything.”

“Bit rich coming from the guy who conned me into being like the worst angel of all time’s meatsuit.”

“Sam, I've thought on this matter and I believe Gadreel to be greatly misunderstood. The serpent getting into the garden was part of God’s plan. He was merely a pawn to an unkind fate and an unknowable Father. Also, he was far from the worst. I personally, have done much more damage to creation.”

“Aww, Cas, don’t bag on yourself like that, man.” Dean pats Cas on the shoulder. “C’mon, we got work to do.”

Sam gives Cas a shy smile, “Plus you’re helping put me back together. It’s all good. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”  
  


***

  
Getting to the bottom of this turned out to be complicated. _When the hell is this ever easy?_ Sam wonders as he crouches behind a smoking arcade cabinet. Three shots had been fired just moments before—high caliber rounds, sniper rifle rounds—and Sam has the distinct impression that those had been warning shots.

Sam can see Castiel and Dean staying low and trying to find anything that would open up the hollow section of wall and let them get beyond the sniper’s reach. Breathing hard and fast, Sam keeps looking at his surroundings, trying to find something that could help, but they’d gone in there expecting a haunting, not having their asses filled with bullets.

Eyes landing on the spooky cabinet, Sam watches as it shakes. Gunman and ghosts, just great.

“Guys, could you find a way us to get the hell out of here about now?” Sam half-whispers, afraid that their sniper may be listening in.

“We are working on an escape route, please be patient, Sam,” replies Castiel just as the cabinet frees itself of its power supply and begins to screech along the floor towards Sam. Holding on for as long as he can, Sam dodges out of the way of the moving cabinet, only to have a bullet fly by close to his right ear, the noise numbing his senses.

“Guys!” Sam shouts, shaking his head, trying to get his ears to stop ringing. The room is moving around him while he lands behind a vending machine. He sees movement lurching at the corner of his vision—the cabinet—and tries to look around for something he can use. A crowbar, fire axe: anything that might help him cut the hulk of metal and circuits down to size.

Sam lunges desperately to the left and the matter is taken out of his hands entirely as the machine smashes right into the hollow wall, keeps charging again and again like an angry bull.

Dean and Cas are taking cover behind some more machines, eyes wide as saucers.

“Well, that’s handy,” Dean says. The screech of metal and the smell of burning electronics overwhelms the air, and many of the screens around the arcade have gone grey and fuzzy. “Seriously though, what the hell is happening?” More rounds are fired in from outside, the only noise overpowering the possessed (or something!) cabinet being the impact from the hollow rounds.

“This is seriously out of control, guys!” Parts of the hollow wall are being chipped away; a couple bricks have come loose, and the machine is just tiredly grinding, looking bizarrely like a guy lazily thrusting, too exhausted to orgasm.

Cas appears abruptly by Sam’s side, fire-axe in hand. Fearlessly, he swings at the wall, going high over the cabinet and battering it in.

Just then, all the houselights come on and the boys hear sirens in the distance.

“Oh crap.” The shots cease firing, and an angry voice rumbles from a formerly hidden staircase at the top of the second level of the arcade, “What the **fuck** is going on here?”

“Uhhh shit we better scram,” Dean hisses. "Go for the back door, can't risk having our asses hanging out with some crazy asshole shooting at us!"

Cas and Sam nod, pincering around Dean to go for the back exit. Cas makes good use of the fire-axe and Sam kicks the door open and they’re off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

They’re a couple of blocks away from the Impala when Dean breaks the silence. “We are so screwed.”

Cas hums thoughtfully. “I am most curious about the source of the gunfire.”

“I’m not so sure that cabinet was the work of a ghost, either…”

“True. This was all very unusual.”

Dean sighs. “I need a drink, dammit. This whole day was more crap from my childhood being pissed on. Next you’re going to tell me Adam Sandler’s making a movie about videogames.”

Sam shudders. ”Yeah, um, let’s not go there.”

Cas just blinks into the silence, squinting at the brothers as they pile into the Impala. “It may be prudent to stay out of town until we know the source of the sniper.”

“Crap.”

“What, Dean?”

“I forgot to check the car for a tracker. Geez I bet my baby’s bugged. Uugh some asshole’s had his grubby little paws all over my girl. Dollars to doughnuts.”

Cas blinks, and a short fizzing sound accompanied by a spark comes from the radio. “You were correct.”

Dean’s jaw drops and he scrabbles at the tapedeck in despair. “Aww man Zeppelin IV was in there!”

Sam knocks Dean upside the head. “Just concentrate on getting us out of here. Thanks for taking care of that bug, Cas.” He shoots a small smile over the benchseat at the rumpled angel.

“Of course. Additionally, there was a hex bag tied to the undercarriage.”

“A hex bag? This just keeps getting weirder…” Sam says.

Dean moans pitifully, “My car. All these assholes molesting my baby.”

Getting the Impala moving, a sense of despair clinging to Dean at the loss of Zeppelin IV, no one says anything. Clearly someone wanted them either scared or dead and the latter was always far more likely. But moving game cabinets? A sniper? Hexbags? That was not the M.O. for anyone from heaven or hell. _There’s too many people who could want us dead_ , Sam surmises after attempting a mental list and giving up.

“Looks like we’re going to have to slum it tonight, champs,” Dean muses, his eyes continually flashing to look in his rear view mirror to see if they’re being followed.

“I thought you wanted to hit a bar?” Sam stretches as he talks, tiredness already setting in as the rush of adrenaline from the arcade finally dies down.

“How about, we pick up some beer and crap and then just camp up somewhere. Pretty sure there’s still some tents and whatever stowed in the trunk.”

“Camping?” Castiel’s voice is wary. “That does not sound very safe.”

“It’ll be fine, Cas. We’ll just make sure there’s no open ridges near by where we can be shot at from,” Sam doesn’t bother hiding his sarcasm. “Or grassy knolls. Seriously, Dean, out in the open isn’t going to be any safer!”

Castiel leans between the two brothers. “I could take watch?”

Dean waves a hand at Cas. “See? Angels don’t sleep. Untwist that bunch your panties are in, Sammy. Thanks, Cas.”

“Your attitude is still very cavalier, however. It may be best to seek shelter in a cave.”

Dean groans. “What, and be hemmed in by Sam’s completely gross farts all night? Uhh no thanks dude.”

Sam turns bright red and smacks Dean in the arm, “Dude! Come on, Cas has a good point.”

Dean flaps a hand at Sam, “Yeah yeah. Okay. We’ll look for lost gold in the mines of Moria. Whatever.”

They’re about 40 miles out of town before they stop for supplies. Dean lights up like a Christmas tree and gets super excited about cooking over a fire and goes a little crazy grabbing fancy smokies, a couple random kinds of steak, and of course, fixings for S’mores. Sam grabs a couple of six packs and no hard liquor—Castiel watches on in bemusement, slipping a mickey of Jim Beam in with their groceries. Neither can recall the last time they saw Dean so fired up over something.

On the way back to the car, Cas catches Dean singing “Davy, Daaaavy Crockett! King of the wild frontieeeer” under his breath. He loves the righteous man, really he does. An echoing warmth fills Sam’s chest as he slides in beside his brother. _Fuck it, I’m onboard. I can’t remember the last time I saw Dean this happy. I don’t even care that this is a terrible idea._

It’s another 15 miles or so before they see the signs for the campsite: Twin Pines.

Castiel has a distinctly uncomfortable feeling in his vessel’s stomach. This was the first place he’d tried to contact Dean after returning from Purgatory. Dean notices too, and some of the light dims from him before he starts humming Ramble On and tapping along on the wheel to the music in his head like he’s making up for his momentary dip in mood.

“Guys?” Sam looks between Dean and Cas. “Something wrong?”

“Nah.” Dean mouths a few words of Ramble On and thumps along on the steering wheel harder. Castiel stays silent.

Sam makes one of his patented puppydog expressions, brow furrowed and mouth pinched. “Well, if you say so…”

“I do. Drop it, Samantha. Soon, we’re gonna be assdeep in all the wieners we can handle! Until we choke!”

Sam strangles on his own laughter, and Dean turns bright red.

“Yeah, I said it! I’m gonna double-fist ‘em until I pass the fuck out! gonna cram my craw full of more ass than it can handle, too!”

“Dean…” Castiel begins, puzzled. “Sam appears to be having some sort of seizure….”

Dean shoots the angel a shit-eating grin, “Ah, ‘s nothin’. Sammy just can’t handle the love between a man and his meat. Ain’t that right, li’l bro?”

Drool and tears and sheer mirth have made Sam’s face a red, blotchy mess. “Y-Yeah. I can’t handle your l-love of m-m-m-meat, Dean.” Sam gasps out this last.

Castiel tilts his head to one side, “I profess to curiosity. When I was homeless, my fellow hobos sometimes cooked around a trashbarrel… but whatever was cooked always tasted somewhat like gasoline? Will the food taste differently with an alternative fuel source?”

Dean pales and scowls. “Yeah, we’ll show you, Cas! This’ll beat the pants off of any damn hobo food!” he elbows Sam hard in the side.

“Yeah, you’ll see!” Sam wipes a tear away from his eye. “You won’t believe it.” He pats Cas’s hand from where it rests on the back of the bench, it being the nearest part to Sam.  
  
“This is reassuring.” Castiel looks at Sam’s hand moving on his own and the feeling of curiosity is replaced by something else. Quite what Cas is unsure.

Realizing he’s been patting Castiel’s hand somewhat more than necessary, Sam pulls it away and quickly looks out at the darkened landscape. “What about over there?” He points towards a small rocky outcropping off in the distance; trees hide what initially looks like a sheer rock-face from view. It’s maybe two clicks out from the campsites available at the front of the park. Dean pulls up to the office, a small one room building with a sign saying “Information and permits”.

“I’ll go sweet-talk the ranger into letting us park the Impala out of view and you two can scout for a cave over there. We good?”

Sam smirks and nods waiting for Dean to get out of the car so he can drive. Checking his pockets, Dean slides out and starts walking over to the office. Sam slips into the driver’s seat and turns the headlights off for a moment so that Baby is as invisible as possible in the low light.

Driving slowly, Sam eases the car past the office and towards the rocky outcropping. Castiel leans against the back of the bench seat, his hands resting near Sam.

“Are you still angry with Dean?” There’s no warning, the question is just out of Castiel without any preamble.

Sam grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “It’s complicated.”

Cas squints at Sam. ”In so many words yes, then.” he frowns, thoughtful.

“Can we not talk about this right now?” _Or ever?_ Sam picks up speed, now that the office is further away, and then puts the headlights back on. The way is bumpy and an uncomfortable silence fills the car.

The drive is short and Sam says nothing as he pulls up, cuts the engine and grabs a Maglight. Getting out of the car, he doesn’t wait for Castiel to follow him. He feels the angel’s presence at his side soon enough.

“Okay, this looks good.” The gap in the towering ancient trees has left ample space once past the initial scrub at the edge of the camping trail to hide the Impala. As suspected, there’s a narrow cleft winding through the cliff-face which looks promising. Sam turns the flashlight on, and Cas drops behind a couple of feet, due to the bright light interfering a little with his natural superior vision.

Castiel scents the air, tugs on Sam’s left sleeve to guide him into an offshoot in the gap. “There is wind blowing through this opening. There may be a secondary exit, and at the very least the cave will not get overwhelmed with smoke from a cook-fire.”

“Oh, sure. Sounds good.” They examine the cave, disturbing a couple of bats who were returning from hunting. “It’s pretty dry in here and not that covered in guano. I think this could work. We should snag Dean and get set up, getting camping stuff set up in the dark sucks. The faster we get this over with, the better.”

“Of course.”

They make their way back down to the car, climb in and get back to the office.

Dean’s outside, smiling boyishly at the blonde park ranger manning the info office. “Lucky us, catching you just in time, huh?”

The ranger smiles, her teeth glinting in the light above the cabin door. “Yeah. Well lucky you barely missed the bear that wandered through here! Just a brown, but you never know.”

Dean’s eyes widen comically, and he shoots the dimpled blonde a mischievous grin. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you close so you can protect me. You know, from bears.”

The ranger’s laughter comes out in peals like a bell, “Pal, you sure look like bear bait. Maybe can the machismo and hairy gay dudes won’t be so convinced they’re your type.”

Dean’s mouth works soundlessly, and Sam can’t help but grin at the exchange.

“I, um, I don’t know what you’re —” Dean licks his lips and Sam strides over, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Hey! Cas and I found a great spot. Can you give us the license for spot 42?”

“Sure.” The ranger writes up a chit, hands it to Sam. “Just the one vehicle for the night means it’ll be a twenty. Got a machine in the office if you don’t have cash on hand.”

“Oh, no I’ve got cash.” Sam digs out his wallet and Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam in a clear _you big dirty hippie look_.

Sam mouths “bears” at Dean, while Cas looks on in clear confusion. He’s learned enough social graces to wait for privacy, however.

It doesn’t take long before the three of them are driving over to their preferred site, which is nowhere near number 42. Dean is looking thoughtful.

“We probably really should set up something at site 42. You know the ranger will do a driveby in the middle of the night and at the asscrack of dawn.”

“Sure, no problem. We’ll just set up a couple of sleeping bags and stuff them full of crap so it looks like we’re in there. Then if there’s bullet holes come morning we’ll know we’ve been followed!” Sam rolls his eyes, at Dean’s glare. “Seriously, Dean. Anyway…. we’re here.”

“DON’T say it Sammy, so help me GOD….”

Sam’s lips twitch repeatedly. “Now that you’ve said that….”

Cas coughs. “We’re here, we’re queer, we don’t want anymore bears?”

Sam laughs a real gut-buster, clapping Cas on the back repeatedly as he leans over and wheezes. Dean just looks stunned.

“Cas, when did you— oh right. Metatron. Nevermind,” Dean sighs. “Dammit, now you get to use Jedi mind-tricks on me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

Cas smiles with his mouth ticked up in one corner, looking a little prim.

SOMETIME LATER….

Dean and Sam have had more than their fill of meat, beer, and s’mores. Castiel tried a bit of each, picking up the spare and eating s’mores once the guys were nursing their way through beer, drowsy and content.

Castiel is licking bits of melted marshmallow and chocolate off his fingers in-between gnawing at the last stubborn chunks of marshmallow clinging to the stick Dean had whittled. He makes little hums of pleasure, oblivious to the state his face is in.

Dean yawns, eyes at half-mast as he reclines with the sleeping bag rolled up as a pillow under his head. “This is the life, guys.”

Sam only has eyes for the way Cas’s lips and tongue are greedily sucking and licking. His stomach does a tiny flip which must be like rolling a boulder uphill with how much he’s got crammed in there. “Yep, you said it.”

“Perhaps all this protein will help you heal faster, Sam. I should heal you further before you rest today. It will help with the transition.”

Sam blinks. “Oh, right.” His stomach rolls again.

Perching beside Sam, Castiel reaches a hand out towards him. “May I?”

Nodding, Sam closes his eyes as Castiel’s hands touch his cheeks. Since he kicked Gadreel out, Sam’s gotten used to these healing sessions, but something feels different this time. The tingling sensation all over his skin is normal, but the butterflies in his stomach are new. It feels more intimate than before, which is insane because nothing is different. _Right?_

There’s a nervous energy churning inside him now, and Sam is trying not to shake. Trying not to think, even. He remembers the bullet that almost hit his head earlier and the hardened hunter crumbles a little inside. Sam may have been ready to die not that long ago, but he isn’t so eager now. He feels a little stronger but also like he’s falling apart. He shuts his eyes, unable to stand Cas’s staid presence beside him.

“Cas I— I think that’s enough for one night.”

The angel withdraws and Sam’s skin hums faintly in his wake. “As you wish.” He tilts his head and peers at Sam. “You don’t require that many more sessions. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, it may be as little as a fortnight before you are back to normal functioning levels.”

Sam laughs a little, partly in relief, partly because Castiel sounds like he’s talking about some kind of robot instead of Sam’s body. “Well, that’s something, right?” He smiles only a little shakily up at Castiel, and the concern mixed with gentle humor in his friend’s eyes is both reassuring and heart-rate spiking.

Not giving Cas a chance to reply, Sam stalks off to his own sleeping bag and settles beside it. A snore and a grunt escape from Dean who has managed to crawl into his own bag. The fire is still burning and Sam watches it as he lays out curled on his side in the sleeping bag. Watches the flames lick and curl around the burning logs and brush they had shoved inside it.

Sleep does not claim Sam, he’s too energized from Castiel’s ministrations. He can see the angel’s silhouette limned by the firelight. Sam ponders what the angel can see and hear, beyond his own range, as he stands his watch. _Did he ever keep watch in the garrison?_ Sam realizes that much of Castiel’s existence has been occupied with watching and waiting for signs of danger.

_A warrior’s life._ At that thought, Castiel shifts on his spot and Sam swears the angel’s blue eyes are glowing a little in the darkness—looking at him, observing him. Nervously, Sam closes his eyes and tries to settle. He is tired, but the day’s strangeness just keeps running around and around in his head. When sleep finally comes, he’s dreaming of Castiel’s lips and near misses.

Castiel observes the cave mouth, keeping one of the Winchester brothers near the front of his sight at all times. Sam’s heartbeat had been irregular, minutes before. He can’t help but wonder what it could mean. Humans were really such odd creatures. Even living as one for half a year had barely helped scratched the surface in regards to the inanities of their daily lives. His gaze shifts to Dean for a moment and he struggles to not remember Purgatory—how he and Benny had watched over Dean there in the endless grey twilight of the forest, like this, in the times he’d required rest. They’d been through so much together… in a way his time as a human had been a relief. No Heavenly choir to tune into, no Dean asking the impossible on a daily basis, no Sam to feel guilty over. The crushing loneliness had nearly been worth the trade-off; to just think, be himself, and come to realize what that meant on his own. He was glad to be here, helping his human family. This was a complex case and getting more dangerous by the moment. He’d likely have stuck close even if Sam hadn’t still been recovering and needing his help.

The fire snaps and crackles with the sap in a knot of wood exploding, and Castiel returns his focus to Sam. He no longer feels guilty over tearing down Death’s wall; he’d done his penance in that regard. This past couple of months, when he had spent time with Sam, it’d been well, pleasant. He is still very lonely… still caught between angel and human. It was very nice to have a friend other than Dean, someone who really has no ties at all to his past in Heaven and destiny. _Yes._ Cas muses, _Sam understands me. He, too, has always plowed on to do what was best regardless of cost or consequence. It is unfortunate that the side-effects have turned out so terrible in every regard. I believe I would like to know more about Sam-and-Cas, not Dean-and-Cas nor Sam-and-Dean-and-Cas._ The realization startles him, and the angel sits up a little more, looks around guiltily. _What does this mean?_ Castiel rubs the back of his neck, in a very human gesture, eyes unblinking as he scans unceasingly into the darkness. _I… is this what it is to **like** someone?_ The fire slowly dies down as the Earth continues to turn. Castiel spends his time until dawn with shadowy inklings of thoughts and feelings struggling to surface like a man trapped under ice trying desperately to break free to open air.

Light paints in the ground, filtering through the landscape and the dawn chorus that has been making a racket suddenly stops dead. Castiel is about to wake Dean and Sam when the growl of a bear—Castiel turns to see it’s a brown bear—cuts through the air. It’s the kind of predator sound that a reptile brain responds well to, causing Dean and Sam to wake with guns in hand.


	3. Chapter 3

“Cas!” hisses Dean, “Is that a bear?” 

Castiel looks over his shoulder, one eye on the bear the other on Dean and Sam. “Yes, a brown bear.” 

A different growl fills the air and a second bear joins the party. A third sounds off and comes to a rest beside its fellows. Castiel gives them his full attention. The bears are of varying ages, but Castiel finds this less than reassuring as the three eye him and the guys. The bears’ stances are angry and set. 

“It is quite unusual to have so many of them in one location. Normally they only congregate in groups at major food sources, such as rivers with salmon.” 

“Thanks for the nature lesson, but what are we gonna do about the three bears! I’m not willing to let them have Goldilocks over there!” Dean points his gun at them, but doesn’t pull the trigger. 

_If only I was at full power…_ “There are a few options. Run straight for the car, which has an astronomically high chance of failure. Shoot the bears, which will likely only provoke them to attack and may turn out poorly due to the confined area. Lastly, I can distract them while you make some torches to scare them off?” 

The sound of ripping fabric greets Castiel’s ears and he focuses fully on the bears in front of him. “Hello, yes, I know we stayed in this cave and I would hate for anything untoward to happen to you, but we wish to leave now. Would you perhaps consider allowing this?” 

A growl sounds from the foremost bear. 

“Of course we will leave the remaining hot dogs and other edible items for your perusal.” 

The bear on the left huffs and paws the ground. “No, the humans are coming with me. They are not part of this deal.” _Click_. Castiel feels the heat fanning out behind him as Dean and Sam step forward with their torches, bags on shoulders. 

The bears begin to back away from the flames. “You speak bear?” Sam asks in awe. 

“Yes and—” 

“Later!” Dean advances towards the bears and Sam follows—handing Castiel his own torch as he passes—the bears, awkwardly backing away. The bears get within six feet of the flaming torches and then bolt, running out the mouth of the cave. 

Throwing down their torches, Dean leads the way back to the car as they run. A bullet pierces the ground in front of them before they can reach the Impala. The shot rings out across the landscape. 

“Holy shit it’s broad freakin’ daylight!” 

“I can’t believe they caught up to us already!” 

“Apologies. I must have missed an additional hex bag.” 

“Nevermind that! We gotta get the hell out of here!” 

The three of them scramble into the Impala, Dean barely getting the door unlocked before another bullet glances off the door-handle, just barely missing his hand. “Fuck! Baby no!” 

They manage to get into the car, but a bullet nicks Dean's ankle as he pulls his feet into the Impala. 

“Screw safety first! Forget the seat belts and get the hell down!” Sam and Cas have both piled into the back passenger side, and Castiel pushes Sam’s head down into his lap, leaning over him. Just in time as the rear window of the Impala shatters from another round as Dean reverses. “Oh my God Sammy how many times do I have to tell you to back in? It’s exactly because of crap like this!” The brush they used to hide the car sloughs off as Dean gets into first gear and weaves out of the clearing, between the sparse but alarmingly huge trunks of the ancient trees. 

Sam’s face is bright red as his face remains thrust into Cas’s crotch. It’s the second time in the past day this has happened and he’s sure that the back of his neck has got to be red too. The grip on him is firm though, and Castiel is not letting him move. 

A couple of branches and twigs get in through the hole and another shot takes out the driver’s side mirror as Dean fishtails before cycling rapidly up to third and tearing ass out through the dusty trail to exit the park. He spares a look into the backseat.  
“Okay yeah, admittedly not one of my brighter ideas. You can stow the I-told-you-so’s. You okay back there?” 

Cas straightens up. “Yes, I believe so. But Dean, I smell blood. Were you injured?” 

Dean snorts. “Mostly my pride. And my damn car. ‘S fine, I can walk it off. Sammy?” 

Sitting up, finally, Sam takes in a deep breath. “I’m good.” It’s a lie though. He looks over at Castiel and then away, swallowing. The car feels too small of a sudden and while he usually finds the angel’s lack of understanding about personal space quirky—if not hilarious to watch—now that he’s on the receiving end, it’s uncomfortable. _I'm supposed to be upfront with Dean, I wish I were there instead of back here in Cas's lap. I really don't know how to feel about this._ He slides away from Castiel, inch by inch, until the knob for rolling the window is jammed into his hip and the side of his head rests on the glass of the passenger-side window. 

“We need to stop and assess your injury,” Castiel insists. 

_Yep, stop so I can please get the heck out of here._ “Stop being stubborn, Dean. Gunshot wounds aren’t a joke.” Sam looks at Dean’s reflection. “As soon as you’re sure we’re not being followed, we need to pull over and have Cas take a look.” 

“Fine!” 

Dean keeps the car steady, eyes flicking this way and that as he puts as much distance as he believes is necessary. He knows it’s not enough, as they finally pull up at some roadside picnic area an hour later, but he’s feeling light-headed. 

There’s a couple big trucks pulled off to the side in the rest area, drivers presumably napping. No one is otherwise visible in the still morning air as the sun continues to flirt with the horizon. Castiel slides out of the back and gets to Dean before he can slump against the wheel and set off the horn. 

“Sam, some help?” 

“Oh, sure thing.” Sam gets out of the car and comes around to get his other shoulder under Dean’s arm. Between the two of them, they settle Dean onto a picnic table bench. Sam puts the injured leg up so it’s level, then motions Cas aside and acts as a backrest for his brother, who’s sitting sideways. Castiel rolls up the jean’s left leg; it doesn’t go easily as it’s sticky with blood.


	4. Chapter 4

“This is significantly worse than I was expecting, Dean.” 

Sam’s face tinges green with the sheer volume of blood he sees. “Dude!” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let’s wrap this up and get back on the road. There’s dozens of kids going through that arcade every day and every moment we spend away from town is time we don’t have.” 

“Be that as it may, I believe a major vein has been opened. This may require stitches.” 

“Nothing we haven’t been through before. C’mon, Cas.” 

Castiel sighs. “As you wish. Unfortunately due to healing Sam last night I can only close this wound enough to stop the bleeding.” 

“Better than nothin’. Lay hands on me,” Dean breaks into a Southern falsetto, “oh mighty angel of the Lawd!” 

Sam rolls his eyes, and Cas gives one of his usual lopsided smiles. He wraps a hand around Dean’s ankle, brow furrowed in concentration. He meets Sam’s gaze over Dean’s shoulder, humour wiped out by intensity. 

Dean shivers underneath Sam. “That still feels like biting into tinfoil. I dunno how you take that a couple times a week, Sammy.” 

Sam shrugs and remains silent. Cas’s eyes burn into his. He lets go of Dean.  
  


  
****  


  


Three hours later, they’ve checked the Impala top to bottom for hex bags and bugs, then stolen a second car and stashed their gear in its trunk. They park the Impala at a garage to get it worked on. Dean freaking hates anyone touching his Baby, but they’re kind of pressed for time. 

Stomachs empty, the three of them walk (hobble) to a nearby diner and take a booth, with Cas doing a quick sweep for hex bags. Sam is praying a public location in the day, with witnesses, is less appealing as a location to shoot at them. He’s got his case notes open alongside his laptop, while he slowly devours a stack of pancakes. Cas is beside him and Dean takes up a whole seat, bad leg up, devouring as much pig and egg as he can. 

“The county archives here have been digitizing a lot of their old microfilm and I think I’ve found something…” Sam turns the laptop screen around. On the screen is a scan of an old newspaper story. 

Cas leans in to take a closer look, going into Sam’s space. “There was a fire in the basement back when alcohol was smuggled through it. The building survived, but—” 

Sam tries to ignore Cas leaning partially over him. “They found no bodies, but they did find the charred remains of a pile of clothes and shoes and there’s some offhand comment on the basement floor looking like it had been raised. The joint had connections to a local crime family who had downsized their competition not long before the fire—” 

“And guess where the competition ended up? But why go all Transmorphers now? That article’s from over seventy years ago.” Dean's looking perkier, with his injury tended to and food in his belly. 

Castiel sits back and Sam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. Frowning, Castiel looks out the diner window. “Clearly the one responsible for the hex bags is powerful enough to control the dead.” 

“You think we’re dealing with two different people?” Sam takes another bite of pancakes. 

“I have yet to encounter a witch who can shoot and perform spellwork at the same time.” 

Dean clears his throat. “If you’ll excuse me,” he slides carefully out of the booth, “I need to take a leak.” 

Left alone, Cas’s right knee bumps into Sam’s left as he leans over him again to pick up one of the books Sam brought in. Closing his eyes, Sam feels trapped in his corner of the booth. He’s finding it difficult to breathe right. The angel’s knee has stayed pressed to his. Opening his eyes a fraction, Sam sees that Castiel is looking at him with his head in that bird-like confused tilt. 

“Yes, Cas?” 

“Sam, what’s wrong? You appear to be in respiratory distress.” 

Sam gives Cas a pained smile; the sides of his mouth barely tick up and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothing, Cas. Pancakes just stuck in my throat. Too much syrup, maybe. Guess I went a little overboard.” 

Cas blinks owlishly, peers at Sam’s adam’s apple like he has ex-ray vision and can see if Sam is telling the truth or not. “Perhaps you require more water.” Cas slides away to have room to flag down a waitress without hitting Sam in the face. It’s somewhat hilarious to watch; Cas is staring with this super intense face and waving like a total spaz at the same time. 

Dean comes limping back from the bathroom and settles back in as the waitress shakily refills Sam’s water. Cas is staring like he’ll smite her where she stands if she spills a single drop. In her nervousness the poor girl hits the pitcher on the side edge of the table as she takes it away and the contents slosh up, almost overflowing. “Oooh oops! Well uh, no harm done, right?” 

Dean tips her half of a grin. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” 

Sam is bright red. Cas just brings the glass up to Sam’s mouth and stares, eyes blazing. Sam takes the glass from his hand, their fingers touching. “I’m fine. I can do this. Really.” 

Dean raises an eyebrow at this byplay, and shovels hashbrowns into his mouth like he’s at a movie theatre eating popcorn. 

Sam takes a few thick swallows, sputters in his haste to drink the glass down so Cas will stop staring already and nearly does choke for real. He gets half the glass down, and Cas being a more normal distance away has helped calm that weird tight claustrophobic pulling in his chest. 

Dean sits back and pops a piece of bacon into his mouth, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Not so funny when Cas does his Lassie routine on you, is it now Sammy?” 

_Oh my God._ “Shut up Dean!” Cheeks flaming, Sam cuts his pancakes into smaller and smaller pieces and picks at them slowly while Castiel and Dean exchange another of those deep soulful looks. 

Cas is carefully studying every minitinue of Dean’s expression because while he now understands the reference, the elder Winchester’s talk is confusing as ever. 

Dean looks fondly amused, eyes sparking a little as he continues eating his breakfast. He shoots Cas a wink after perhaps half a minute has elapsed, and resumes giving his food his full attention ‘cause damn breakfast food isn’t burgers or pie, but it’s up there. _I think Samantha’s got himself a cruuuuush_. Dean grins around a mouthful of mixed egg yolk and potato and nearly moans. “Mmmmm. Oh yeah.” 

Cas looks intrigued, his hand starting towards Dean’s plate. 

“No! Don’t you dare, man!” 

Lightning fast, Cas has scored a chunk of hashbrown dipped in egg yolk of his own and is popping it into his mouth with a little lop-sided grin, eyes meeting Dean’s in challenge. 

Dean shakes his head. “Freakin’ unbelievable.” _Well, could’ve happened to a worse guy_. 

Cas chews and makes a delighted sound. Sam stops with the bitch-face and softens a bit around the edges, and actually starts eating again. 

Gaze turning out to the street, Sam naturally begins to track the people outside the diner. It’s just an average day on an average street. Then he sees a fine haze near a dumpster down an alley that overlooks the diner and his stomach clenches. 

“Guys, I think we’re being watched.” 

“What, from the dumpster? Did I hit my head and this place is called Winky’s? Are we on Mulholland drive?” Dean chews with his mouth open as he talks, spraying a few bits of potato onto his plate. And uh, not on his plate. He looks down. “Ooh, oops. Anyway, Cas, you got a bead on what that is?” 

“It appears to be some manner of cloaking spell. So aside from this being magical in nature, I am otherwise in the dark. Leaving would be wise.” 

“Aww, c’mon Cas, we can’t keep running like scared rabbits from this asshole!” 

“I think you’re right,” Sam looks up, chewing his pancakes in a hurry. Yesterday’s close call drags itself through his thoughts and he tries to keep his shit together. 

“Say that again.” 

Sam rolls his eyes “You’re right, Dean. One of us should break off and check it out while we know where our stalker is.” 

Dean turns to Cas with a grin. “Well, Mr.Invisible, guess you’re johnny-on-the-spot. How ‘bout that? You’re gonna out stalk a stalker.” 

“Dean—” Castiel looks at his friend, pole-axed. 

“Huh? What, Cas?” 

“I… I would rather protect Sam. He is very vulnerable right now.” 

Ducking his head down to one of the open books gathered on the table, Sam tries to make out that he is just retaining their cover. What’s really happening is his face is fucking burning, as he finds it impossible to handle the way Cas just said what he said. _This is—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_! Sam keeps on not reading. 

Dean smirks. _Oh ho ho look at that, somebody’s got it bad. Guess it’s mutual._ He wipes at his mouth with a napkin to hide the movement of his lips while he speaks, just in case. “Pfft. Protecting my baby brother is what I do best, Cas. You know you gotta go.” 

Cas licks his lips and looks down at an errant morsel of food. “Yes.” He gets up and heads to the washroom to fake out whoever’s hiding outside into thinking he’s still in the diner. Sam looks up from the book as Cas leaves. 

Dean scrubs a hand through his hair while Sam sits there, red-faced and stunned. “It’s not like I care, but you know Cas is terrible with boundaries, dude. You’re gonna have to lay down the law at some point, man.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and **shut up**.” A rebellious thought fires up and Sam bats it away, unsure how to handle the idea that part of him doesn’t want to ‘lay down the law’. 

“Whatever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

They drink some more coffee and settle the bill by the time Cas has returned. Dean and Cas lounge in front of the jukebox, out of the sight-lines of the windows and door while Sam is in the bathroom. “So what’s the verdict, Cas?” 

“Our quarry appears to be a lone human. A lone, heavily armed human. A female bearing a certain resemblance to Rufus Turner, if you recall him.” 

Dean groans. “Well shit. There’s a name I haven’t heard in forever. Fuck.” A new mother two tables over glares at Dean; he winks at her. “Anyway, I wonder what her deal is.” 

Castiel frowns. “May I suggest the sudden disappearance of a relative was a traumatic event and since you were one of the last people known to see him, she believes you and Sam are responsible?” 

“Oh.” Dean tugs at his bottom lip. “Huh. Crap.” 

Sam comes back out from the restroom. “What’s our next move?” 

“Seems we may have been tagged by someone who held Rufus near and dear to their hearts.” Dean grins like this is the best news in the world. “I figure we could run-slash-drag my ass or we could try to do something about this.” 

“You wanna lure them into a trap?” Sam rakes his hair back, nearly tearing at it. “They’ll probably see it coming from a mile away.” 

“Then we work with that. But I think we need to stop running, because this is some stupid bullshit and we need to at least try explaining to Rufus’s next of kin what happened and gank the witch. We owe him that much.” 

“And what if they don’t listen?” 

“So what if _she_ doesn’t listen?” Dean’s eyes darken and he looks Sam dead in the eye until he looks away. 

“Right… gotta do what we gotta do. Right.” 

Cas coughs delicately. “If I may, there is another solution.” 

Dean looks over at Cas. “All ears, pal.” 

Castiel looks around. “Not here. Let’s drive.” 

Sam nods, frowning thoughtfully. “Yeah, we’re kind of sitting ducks here.” 

“Noted.” Dean pulls himself out of his seat. “Let’s blow this pop-stand.” 

Ten minutes later and the three of them are piled into a Lincoln continental, an older model from the 80s that’s a huge boat of a car. It had made Castiel nostalgic for his own gold car. Sam’s driving and Dean is plotting, Castiel is keeping an eye on their surroundings while they drive. 

“Dean where am I—” 

“Next left.” They are heading to the outskirts of town. “Okay, let’s check in there.” Dean points to a motel coming up on their right. 

“What are we gonna do in a motel?” Sam gives Dean a sideways glance. 

“We’re gonna book two rooms with adjoining doors. You and Cas are going to be in one, and I’ll wait in the other. I figure we got ten minutes until our stalkers show. We gotta make it look like we have no clue we’re being followed, so you and Cas,” Dean grins in a decidedly unsettling manner, “are going to make with the googly eyes and maybe get a bit handsy. Make sure you’re nice and vocal so they don’t stop to wonder why we’re split up.” 

“Dean, that is the most freaking ridiculous—” 

“Dean, I admit this seems somewhat inappropriate.” 

The eldest Winchester just favours them with a smirk. “Nah, I know what I’m doing.” 

Cas frowns primly. “Oh,” he says, licking his lips as he looks at Sam, “do you?” 

Sam turns bright red—again, for crying out loud—and glares out the window. 

“Sure. Sure I do. Don’t you worry handsome, you get a free pass with my little brother just this one time.” 

“Dean!” 

“Oh, and Sam? Don’t break Cas, okay? We’re gonna need him for later.” 

Sam’s bitchface is the stuff of legend.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite his protests, Sam pulls into the motel’s parking lot and they book their rooms with the front desk clerk hardly batting an eye. How is this happening? How? Sam asks himself as he takes his and Cas’s key— _fuck, mine and Cas’s key_ —and gives Dean his.

Just to ensure things look real authentic, Dean makes Sam grab their duffels enroute to their rooms. Cas then chooses that moment, as Sam’s about to open their door, to put an authentically placed right hand on the small of his back.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Dean slides into his own room before Sam can just grab him and add to his injuries.

“What does Dean mean?” Castiel asks, his hand still on Sam’s back.

The door unlocks and Sam pushes it open. “Just… forget it.”

Stepping inside, Sam puts his bag down and takes off his jacket. “Take off your coat.”

Sam starts pacing the room as Cas removes his trenchcoat and folds it before placing it on a side table. Castiel watches Sam pace, concerned at how his heart rate is elevated and that they’re not following the plan yet.

“Perhaps we should sit on the end of the bed?” Castiel sits on the end of the bed and looks up at the younger Winchester.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Sam begrudgingly slumps down beside Castiel on his right. Hands on top of the covers, Sam tries to calm the frantic beating of his heart, but fails when Castiel brushes his right hand over Sam’s left. It tingles and Sam’s face feels warm, the room too small and the silence deafening.

“Sam?” Castiel frowns up at the hunter.

Slowly, Sam turns to look at Castiel. The angel’s blue eyes are so close and he can feel his breath on his face. Sam licks his lips and he watches Castiel’s eyes track that movement.

“We need to be convincing.” Cas looks Sam right in the eyes. And is it just Sam or are they leaning closer together? Gravitating towards each other with each breath they take.

The part of Sam that said earlier that it didn’t want to ‘lay down the law’ pokes its head up, smiles, and then presses Sam’s lips to Castiel’s.

Castiel draws Sam closer, cradling the back of his neck as he kisses back with a firm, dry press. Sam shivers.

“Cas,” Sam says with a small smile as they pull apart, “we’re going to have to do more ‘convincing’ than that.”

“Is that what you truly wish, Sam?” Cas’s eyes are enormous; Sam could drown in them. The pull he feels towards the angel goes straight from his heart to his dick.

“Yeah. Yeah, it really is.” Sam leans into Cas’s touch, puts his hand on the angel’s thigh.

Cas draws very close, his lips brush Sam’s as he speaks, tone muted and low. “Then show me.”

Two further questions arose for Sam then. Be gentle or—

  
His hand slides from Castiel’s thigh to his sternum in a slow caress. He pushes the angel down to the bed and straddles his lap in one fluid movement. Sam then leans down over him, caging Cas in with his long arms and bringing his face close enough to Cas’s to share breath.

“Convincing enough?” Sam whispers, lips brushing the other man’s.

Cas’s eyes—huge and dark navy, lit with desire—stare up at Sam. “ _No_.”

Sam drives his lips down onto Castiel’s and works the angel’s mouth open, prising his lips apart with mouth and tongue.

Cas gasps a little, and Sam dives in aggressively, ruthless with determination to make him do that again.

“Sam—” Castiel clutches the back of Sam’s shirt, fumbling to get it up and get a hand underneath to the skin over his hip.

Sam chuckles low in his throat, kisses down his jaw and starts nipping at Cas’s neck, tracing the carotid where it pulses just under his skin with his tongue. “It’s nice, you know…. hearing you say _my_ name.”

Cas gasps and pushes his hips up into Sam’s, grinding their crotches together. “I will repeat it as many times as you wish if you only continue.”

Sam smirks, feeling the angel’s grace thrum where it works under the skin of his vessel, following the nerves. “You talk too much. Let me fix that.” Sam dives right back into plundering Castiel’s mouth and the latter makes a near whine, almost frantic underneath him for friction and skin. “Sam! Sam—”

Snaking his right hand inbetween them, Sam frantically scrabbles with first his fly and then Cas’s, while Castiel moans his name over and over. His mouth is sucking on the angel’s neck and his hand has just snuck between his fly, fingertips nearly touching hot flesh when—

 _KKKKRRRRAAASSSSH!_ The door between theirs and Dean’s room smashes open and two bodies fly through it.

A low moan escapes Castiel as the two bodies that came in with the door—Dean and a woman—both look up at the bed where Sam and Cas are busy.

“The hell? Seriously—”

The scrappy looking blonde shoves an elbow right up under Dean’s jaw. “Shut it.”

Hardly managing to get his head back in the game, Sam scrambles off of Castiel, hands quickly doing up his jeans. Sam rises to his full height. “Get your hands off of my brother.”

“Sure, whatever you say. You want to go first? Fine.” She shoves Dean away.

Dean rubs underneath his chin. “Well, well.” He laughs humorlessly. “What’s it going to be? Pistols at dawn? Lemme tell you sweetheart, I’m not a morning person.”

Cas is immediately behind the woman, restraining her wrists in one hand. Sam swallows thickly. All that strength and power, and just moments ago—he blinks rapidly to clear his head.

“What is your name? We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Cas speaks lowly, without intonation into the ear of the stranger. His glare pierces Sam over her head, sending chills down his back.

“Dawn Turner, you murdering psycho.”

“Hey, I’m not the one shooting at people with civilians around!”

“Whatever. Let me go, monster,” Dawn hisses.

“Hey! Cas is an angel!” Sam is indignant on Cas’s behalf, high points of colour appearing on his cheeks.

“Inhuman. Monster. Wears what used to be a person. What about the family he suckered that poor sap out of?”

“Well, brava. Ya' sure got us there,” Dean sneers. “Doesn’t change the facts, though. Give us one good reason we shouldn’t ice your ass? We’ve killed plain ol’ vanilla humans for less than this.”

“Because—” Dawn chants some strange word that makes Sam feel queasy and then she’s gone and the room is lit up with smoke, embers everywhere; it looks like from a four foot radius everything around Dawn was set on fire and then put out.

“I’ll say this; you two really know how to burn the hou—”

“Stuff it, Dean!” Sam clamps a hand over his brother’s mouth.

Dean rolls his eyes, but there’s a strangely perky glint to them. He moans in a highly exaggerated manner and wriggles his hips. Sam backs off with a disgusted snort, folds his arms over each-other. Dean licks his lips and winks. “You know I like it when you get aggro, Sammy!”

Castiel arches an eyebrow and then rolls his eyes. “Be that as it may, the capabilities of Dawn’s mage friend are growing alarmingly by the hour.”

“Shit yeah, you’re right.” Sam huffs, blowing hair off his sweaty forehead. “We need to figure out a way to tail Dawn back to her.”

“Gotcha’ covered.” Dean grins. “I snagged enough of her hair for a tracking charm.” He pulls a small handful of hair out of his pocket.

“Gross!”

“However, highly effective. Excellent work, Dean.”

Dean smiles shyly at Cas’s praise, looking nearly boyish, a ghost of who he was long before he ever met Castiel. “Yeah I know. I’m awesome.”

“Are you two gonna stop making googly eyes at each other, so we can do the tracking spell?” Sam stomps off out of the room and heads for the trunk of their stolen car. _Crap, I didn’t mean_ , he looks over his shoulder, Dean is staring at him from the doorway and looking a little shocked.

“What the hell, Sam? You just had what looked like a pretty hot and heavy make-out sesh. Who pissed in your damn wheaties?”

Sam’s mouth opens and shuts a few times before settling into a line; he ducks his head, sighs and heads to the car.

Castiel’s eyes are dinner-plate huge; liquid looking with concern, “That was unusual. Sam seems very upset. Dean, what’s happening?”

“Dunno’.” Dean licks his lips. “Maybe you should go ask him.” Dean’s mouth twists into a thin line before he grins up at Cas sideways, through his lashes. “I think lover-boy’s worried there’s not enough angel to go around. You go deal with his bitch-facing, I’m going to take some pictures of this burnt circle thing we’ve got going.” They hold a long stare for a couple of beats before Castiel nods and exits the hotel to head out after Sam.


	6. Chapter 6

When the parking lot comes into view, Castiel finds the younger Winchester just standing there with his hands on the trunk of the “borrowed” Lincoln continental, staring off into space. Cas catches up to him within a moment, putting one hand on Sam’s shoulder and turning him around to look at his face.

“Sam,” he says low, gentle.

Sam tries to shrug Cas’s hand off his shoulder. He keeps staring down. “I-I know that was dumb, okay? Really childish.” His eyes dart up to meet Cas’s for a moment, dark and gleaming. “It’s just, you and Dean...”

Cas grips Sam’s shoulder tight. “I know. However, it was not Dean alone I raised from Perdition, Sam. Even if Dean had not made the choice for me, I’m making the choice on my own now.” His hand moves to Sam’s jaw and tilts his head up. “You. I chose you, Sam. That will have to be enough.”

“I-I...”

 _Enough?_ Sam looks into Castiel’s eyes—really looks—he hadn’t even known until this past day that he had been hiding his feelings for Cas. Like a person who forgets to eat and doesn’t realize that the gnawing pain inside is because they’re missing something vital. Cas is choosing him, but he already feels half-starved and he just wants the case to be over. Cas’s hand feels like the beginning of a feast.

Pulling away from Cas, Sam finally opens the trunk of the stolen towncar and starts looking for what they’ll probably need for a tracking spell. _The sooner this is done, the better. The sooner this is done_ … Sam repeats to himself. He grabs the grimoire of a Bavarian witch that he knows has some good ones and flips it open to find a spell that will work with hair. Locating one, it looks solid enough and he starts pulling out supplies he knows they already have.

While he works, Sam can feel Castiel’s stare burning into him. Sure Sam knows he needs to say something more, but he—the king of chick flick moments—is suddenly at a loss for words. Checking the spell’s ingredients against what he’s found, he sees that they need fresh lamb’s blood.

Still searching the trunk’s contents, Sam lets out a long breath. “Cas, I—” _All I want to say is that I’m glad, happy… why don’t I feel happy? He chose me? Why don’t I feel happy?_ Sam struggles to fill the silence. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry…”

Cas glares at Sam. “If you cannot meet me half-way, I fear our paths shall diverge in swift fashion.” His gaze slants down in the same half-apologetic, half-castigating look he gave Sam when they first met.

Sam whips his head over to look at Cas. _What?_ This is just another moment in a string of them that hasn’t made sense today. He puts the book away and squares his shoulders. “We need fresh lamb’s blood to make this locator spell I found work. So let’s find some and put this behind us, okay?”

Storm clouds roll across Cas’s usually placid face as he literally turns on heel and heads back to the motel room.

He finds Dean lying on the bed, hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. “Hey Cas. We good?”

“No,” the angel scowls, “this is all very confusing and I’m uncertain if I’ve made things worse. Your brother is infuriating.”

Dean chuckles. “Yep, sure that’s not the first time Sam’s heard that. Usually aimed at him and not me, though. Kinda’ funny, shoe being on the other foot and all that.” He sits up and swings his legs over so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam enters the room, ingredients in a bag for the tracking spell.

“We’ve got most stuff for a spell I found, but we still need fresh lamb’s blood.”

“Well then. No time like the present!” Dean grins and claps his hands together. “Whaddya’ say I catch twenty while you and Cas do the deed?” Dean blinks and then his grin becomes extremely shit-eating. “Well, so much as can be done in twenty. Wouldn’t surprise me if Sammy was a premature ej—”

Castiel has pinned Dean to the bed with a hand over his mouth. “Please Dean, cease this. Your vulgarity is antagonistic at this time—” Cas and Dean both look over as the door bangs open and then slams shut as Sam leaves again. They both blink, and then look at each-other with wide eyes while Cas’s hand slips from Dean’s mouth like his arm’s turned to jelly.

“Well...fuck.”

Cas sits back on his heels. “That is an understatement.” They hear the rumble of an old engine roar to life in the parking lot and speed off.

Dean grins cheerily up at Cas’s puzzled stare. “Guess it’s just you and me, Sunshine. Up you get!” He pushes gently at Cas’s hips. The angel stares blankly for another moment before clambering off of Dean and sitting beside him on the bed, head in his hands.

“This is...yeah.” Cas sighs.

Dean stays lying on the bed, feet on the floor. “Just another day at the office with PMS-amantha. Turn on the radio, there’s bound to be a local news station somewhere. Maybe we’ll catch a break on the witch activity front.”

Cas looks up from his hands. “Perhaps. I suppose it is better than being completely idle.”

“Better than sitting around with your dick in your h—son of a bitch. Sorry man. Anyway, I was serious about my catnap.” Dean rolls over onto his side, and Cas moves up the bed to reach the clock radio. He fiddles with the dial for a moment before settling on what seems to be a local news frequency.  
  


***  
 

Angrily tapping on the steering wheel, Sam drives towards the kosher butcher he’d managed to look up on his cell. Dean’s smug smirk taunts him and he’s about halfway to feeling as pissed with Dean over mocking him and Cas. It settles uncomfortably beside the anger Sam still feels over the whole Gadreel thing.

And Cas… So he chose him. Chose him and now Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself. Instead he just focuses on the damn road, passing cars heading back to the small town. Guilt laps up against Sam. He’s not pissed at Dean or Cas, really. _I let it go too far. It’s my fault… I let my guard down and—I could have stopped things._

Rubbing at his forehead, Sam feels torn. He hadn’t wanted to stop things, he’d wanted more. Had craved more the moment their lips had touched. _I was too distracted_ , Sam concludes as he imagines Dawn’s disappearance. _I fucked up._

Sam slows down at a railway crossing, coming to a halt behind several cars as they wait for a train to pass. A few more cars pull up behind him and he waits with them. He smells smoke and—  
  


***  
 

“Dean!” Castiel is roughly shaking the hunter awake. The radio is droning on in the background.

Dean swats at the angel and blearily opens his eyes. “What, Cas? Geez, there was no way that was twenty minutes.”

“On the radio, there was a traffic report, saying that a Lincoln Continental had been found abandoned by the rail tracks heading out of town, all scorched on the inside and that police are investigating.”

“You don’t think—! ”

“I think they have him.”

“Well shit, what the hell are we waiting for? Let’s freaking move already!”


	7. Chapter 7

One moment he was in the Lincoln, the next Sam was inside a cage. The bars are as thick as two of his fingers and made of steel. There’s little light and he’s sat on his ass as he tries to get his bearings and let his eyes adjust.

“I hope your trip wasn’t too bumpy,” Dawn hisses, an echo carrying her words, before banging a crowbar against Sam’s cage.

The noise is deafening and Sam flinches. “Whatever, but you need to get your damn facts straight!”

“You and Dean kill—”

“We did not kill Rufus! We were there, but it wasn’t us!”

The crowbar bangs against the cage once more. Sam looks at the bars, there’s a lock but its construction looks strange, the metal a different hue to the cage itself with a greenish shimmer. The room the cage is in is dimly lit, a large warehouse.

“Liar!”

“I don’t know what crap your witch friend has been feeding you, but we did not kill Rufus! Bobby Singer did!”

Dawn’s hand stops just before hitting the cage again. “Bobby did? Why the hell would Bobby kill him?”

There’s the sound of a man’s voice from somewhere. Sam doesn’t recognize it, but figures it’s the witch. Dawn says nothing more and follows the voice.

“Wait, Dawn!” Sam claws at the empty air outside his cage, hand thrust between the bars.

Dawn doesn’t hear him. There’s movement to Sam’s right and his eyes track a small form skittering about in the low light. A glimpse of brightly colored feathers—framed by a beam of sunlight that is shining down onto the dusty floor beyond the cage.

Small beady eyes look up at Sam through the gloom and he can’t quite believe the shape of what else it’s a part of. It’s like he’s looking into the pages of a book he once had as a child, one of the few he’d ever had. It had been a book on dinosaurs and this creature beyond the bars looks to be an archeopteryx.  
  


***  
  


Dean scans the parking lot of the convenience store which is somewhat busy given the time of day. Fortunately there’s a part heavily shaded by a nearby hardware store with a couple of trees obscuring some of the view. Pisspoor planning by whomever maintains the lot, but lucky for him.

He saunters over with Cas keeping step with him, trying to not look like he’s in a hurry and draw attention.

“Fuck.”

“Yes.” Cas shields Dean further from view as he crouches down beside an older model sedan.

Dean looks up at Cas and hisses, “Shit, dude, look casual!”

Cas puts his hands in his pockets and starts whistling, leaning against the car.

Dean groans. “Oh man, _nobody_ does that! Just, here,” he gives the angel his phone, “pretend you’re looking at something on here.”

Castiel looks between Dean and the phone, blankly. “Okay....”

“I know you’ve had one of these before, stop yanking my chain, ok? Look up if there’s any place we can get what we need around here. Unlocks the—” Dean blushes a little as he hands Cas the phone. “The first letter of your name in Enochian, okay? I don’t—”

Cas raises an eyebrow and takes the phone out of Dean’s hand.

“Shut-up. How many people are going to know? Don’t answer that.” Dean pulls a wire hanger he stole from the motel room out of his coat, slides it down between the car window and where it sits in the door. “Dude, I’ve got a few things but we’re going to have to waste time we don’t got getting spell ingredients.”

Cas busies himself with the phone as Dean works on the lock. A few seconds later the lock pops up and Dean looks up to smile at Cas.

“You know,” the angel says thoughtfully as he meets Dean’s gaze, ”the only difficult ingredient is myrrh. Really, we only need holy water and blood for a tracking spell, and those are easily enough found.”

“Huh. Yeah you’re right. I forgot about that.” Dean opens the door and scrabbles around on the floor as he starts hotwiring the car.

“Surprisingly, it appears a natural health store may be the easiest place to find some.”

Dean groans. “Goddamit all this and now I gotta wade through the stink of patchouli, too? This day just gets better and better.” The car sparks to life and he grins. “Well, at least one thing is looking on the up. Saddle up Cas, we’re going to drop in on some deadheads.”  
  


***  
 

Beady eyes watch Sam’s every movement. The archeopteryx hasn’t left since it appeared in front of the cage thirty minutes ago. “Hey, um, can I help you?”

The lizard-looking bird just blinks at him, before shifting into the form of a very small mostly human female with golden feathers mixed in with her hair. Her arms are webbed to her sides, which are covered in downy fluff at the span. “I do not believe you can even help yourself, Sam Winchester.” A loose, flame-coloured toga is covering her four foot nothing frame.

“What do you want with me?”

“It is not what I want, but what my master wants.”

“You’re a witch’s familiar?”

“Being brought back to life after thousands of years can do much to change one’s viewpoint. Yes, I am bound. The real question is, what are you going to do for me in that cage, pitiful human?”

Sam sighs and looks down. “Not a heck of a lot, I guess. I mean once you’ve chosen to be a familiar there’s no going back, right?”

The archaeopteryx blinks. “You waste my time by stating the obvious. Goodbye.”

“Wait! Wait…. what does your master want with me?”

“That is for me to know and you to find out.” She saunters off with a smirk.

Sam sinks down to his knees in the cage and hits the floor with his fist. “Great. Just great.”

Alone again, Sam feels in his pockets for something to pick the lock. Patting himself down he finds his lockpick set and pulls out his tools. Sam hooks his hands through the bars either side of the lock, the metal still shimmering green. Putting in one sliver of metal and then the other, Sam starts to feel the lock’s components and then his pick snaps in the lock and there’s the sound of metallic chewing.

Pulling his hands back, Sam’s glad he didn’t just shove his fingers inside it.  
  


***  
  


Dean and Cas get make their way inside the store, which as the former bemoaned, was redolent with the stench of patchouli and also sandalwood. Cas hangs back, covering the front exit while Dean makes his way to the cashier.

The surprisingly young-looking, yoga-pants clad, red-headed and smoking hot cashier. _Helllllo_ , Dean thinks with a mental wolf-whistle. He flashes her wide grin. “Hey.”

“Hello, is this your first time here?”

“Yeah.” Dean looks down and licks his lips before looking back up. “How could you tell?”

The cashier smiles. “Small town. Most of our business is mail order and we know all the names and faces of our regular customers.”

“Oh, I see. Listen uh, this is going to sound weird, but…” Dean leans forward and tries to look shy. The cashier mirrors his body language and smiles encouragingly. “Do you have any myrrh oil?”

“Why yes, we do. It’s somewhat on the pricey side so it’s kept behind the counter.” The cashier smiles sympathetically. “Let me guess: your boyfriend over there, his lips are really chapped and you’ve tried just about everything else?”

Dean turns bright red but forces himself to smile since the necessary excuse is in hand. “My brother’s actually, but yeah. He’s shy, that’s why he’s over there by the door.”

“Ahh, I see. Well, just a moment.” The redhead turns around and unlocks the glass cabinet behind her with a key that was secured to her wrist with a plastic cord.

A couple of minutes later Cas and Dean are outside. Dean turns over the bottle in his hand. “A hundred freakin’ dollars. _Fucking Sam, fucking witches!_ ” _And after she thought me and Cas were gay for each other, no wonder she wouldn’t give me her number. Goddammit._

Cas takes the bottle out of Dean’s hand and unscrews the lid. After staring for a moment, he dips a finger in and then brings it to his lower lip, smearing it across. Dean looks on, torn between being puzzled and amused as Cas rubs his lips together.

“Well, what’s the verdict, Cas?”

“Somewhat effective. Inferior compared to what was available in ancient Egypt, however.” He screws the lid back on and pockets the jar.

Dean shrugs and they walk back to the car. “Good to know. Let’s go nab some holy water.”  
  


***  
  


Familiar footsteps approach and Sam stares up into the face of Dawn. The crowbar is still in her hand.

“What did you mean that Bobby killed Rufus?” The doubt in Dawn’s voice is clear. Sam still has a chance here.

“There was this brain worm thing and it made people do the craziest shit. Like kill their spouses for no reason—”

“And you guys were working with Rufus on this?”

Sam smiles hopefully and presses himself a little closer to the bars. “Exactly. But this thing was tricky, it would shift hosts constantly. And we got it cornered in this warehouse, but—”

“It jumped Bobby?”

“Right, and even though Bobby didn’t want to do what he did… he shot Rufus.”

“And there was nothing you could do to stop him?”

Taking a heavy breath, Sam rubs the back of his neck. “We weren’t in the room when it happened.”

Dawn takes a step closer to the cage and lowers her face so she’s level with Sam’s. Aged before her years, Sam wonders if the chain he can see glinting at her neck is something sentimental, ending in a keepsake. There are tears in her eyes. “You shoulda’ been.”

Sam only flings himself back in time as Dawn viciously shoves the crowbar through the cage’s bars. But he grabs for it and pulls, struggling until finally he has the crowbar.

Short sharp breaths escape Dawn. “Keep it for all I care! It’s not going to do you any good!” Sam watches as she retreats back into the depths of the warehouse once more.  
  


***  
  


“Hey, Cas…” Dean says as they pull up to the catholic church on the outskirts of town. “How come you can’t make holy water? I mean you’re a freaking angel.”

Castiel looks over at the church and frowns. “I believe it has to do with the specific nature of faith. I no longer believe God is watching over us. I am on the fence about if He loves us, as well.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “Welcome to the club, I guess.”

Cas shoots a small smile at Dean. “I am in esteemed company.”

“So, whaddya’ think? Just steal some water out of the fountain?”

“Yes. I will be able to tell if it is blessed. If it is not we can then go through the extra trouble of talking a priest into blessing some for us.”

Dean smirks. “Or stealing the communion wine. Well Flanders, you’re the one in the Sunday best. You get in there.” He loiters outside, while Cas makes his way into the church.

A couple of minutes later, Cas arrives with a small child in tow. The little redheaded boy is clinging to Cas’s pant-leg, and the angel looks slightly dazed. _I have not been the subject of such regard since my first meeting with Sam._

Dean squats down to talk to the kid, as Cas seems speechless. “Hey Champ. Whatcha’ doin’?”

The kid grins, gap-toothed and ecstatic. “He’s shiny!! There’s all this light! And he sounds like colours! It’s so cool!”

Dean looks up at Cas, eyebrows raised. _Seriously, do we have another angel in hiding on our hands here? Or is this kid another psychic? What the crap?_ He smiles encouragingly at the kid, who is barely more than a toddler. “I know, he’s cool right? He’s an honest-to-goodness angel.”

The kid’s eyes go huge and he stares up at Cas in awe. “Woooow.”

Dean smiles crookedly at the kid. “He’s got really important work to do, okay? So let him go. You don’t want to see him smite somebody, do you?”

The kid looks between Cas and Dean rapidly. “Could…. could he smite you?”

Castiel finally snaps out of his thoughts about Sam, and smiles gently down at the child. “Dean is the righteous man. He is the only human I would never smite from now until the end of time.”

Dean just shoots him a look that says _really, Cas? That’s your angle?_

The redhead frowns and looks up at Dean suspiciously. “Then why’s it look like you’re all dirty? Like covered in smoke…. and… not nice things?” The kid looks scared and hugs Castiel’s leg.

“My brother is in trouble and a lot of crap has happened and—” Dean rubs at the back of his neck, frowning.

Cas pats the kid on the head. “There, there. There, there. Please Michael, my friend is in trouble and I have to go save him.”

“Oh. Okay!” The kid lets go and toddles off into the church.

Dean stares after him in bewilderment. “What the _hell_ was that? Anywho, we got a maiden to rescue. Can’t speak much for his virginity, but—”

“ ** _Dean!_** ” Cas stalks off to the car, and Dean scrambles to his feet to catch up.  
  


***  
  


The crowbar is resting on Sam’s lap. It’s useless for doing anything to the bars. _I wonder if they know I’m gone_. Sam peers into the low light. There is a man’s silhouette looming in the gloom.

“So, you the mage?” Sam doesn’t move.

The figure remains still and silent. Sam feels a sense of wariness creep over him, like he’s being more than just watched. That the figure is staring _into_ him.

“Do you _love_ that angel?” The man in grey breaks his silence, the cadence of his voice having a slight unearthly quality to it.

Sam’s heart hammers in his chest and he’s not sure what he should say or whether he should just stay silent for now. He’s being judged, he can tell that much. Sam decides to say nothing in reply. _I don’t know_.

The mage chuckles. “Something for you to ponder.” Sam listens as the figure retreats somewhere else in the warehouse.


	8. Chapter 8

One locator spell later, the greater part of Team Free Will is rapidly closing in on a neighbourhood that looks nearly deserted. It’s a run-down industrial area with a few shabby low-rises on the outskirt and only a handful of sketchy looking guys wandering around.

“Dude, Breaking Bad much? I swear to Christ Jesse’s gonna pop out of the freakin’ wood work any minute now.”

Cas looks at Dean, eyes narrowed in thought. “I don’t believe this is the sort of neighbourhood where stray gunfire or arson would alert the authorities in a timely fashion.”

“No kidding. Alright, so here’s the plan: you go around the front and I’ll try to sneak in the back. If there is one.”

“I believe splitting up to be a poor choice, Dean.”

“It’ll be fine. Less chance of both of us walking into an ambush if one of us is a distraction. Plus, and this is a _big plus_ , gunfire’s not gonna do much of anything to you.”

“Be that as it may, I am formally registering doubts about this course of action.”

“You’re a big bad angel, aintcha? You’ll be just fine without me to hold your hand.”

Castiel scowls. “You _know_ full well that isn’t the problem. Your mobility is a concern.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why the _sneaking_. It’s all good, Cas. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.” Dean flashes him a grin and pulls the old sedan over. “I gotta say, good thing this car is _already stolen_. The idea of parking my Baby here is the stuff of nightmares.”

Nodding, Castiel looks around alertly, scanning the area. “We are perhaps two blocks away from where Sam is being held. He’s north-east.”

“Alright. Let’s go. I’ll give you a five count from the next building over while you go in.” The pair head off; the sky is grey and stormy, threatening rain. Castiel frowns thoughtfully as he looks up. “I believe this cloud coverage to be anomalous. The coming storm may be magical in nature.”

“Great. Fan-freakin’-tastic. Ghosts, dead people, storms, freaking **teleportation** , what can’t this asshole do?”

“Maybe this isn’t a mage we’re dealing with, Dean. Maybe…” Cas trails off, looking around a corner across from the entrance to the warehouse.

“What, Cas?” Dean loads a round into the chamber of his revolver, and puts it back in the back of his jeans.

“We may be dealing with a god. A very ancient god.”

“Oh joy. So there’s no telling if we can even kill this thing. Thanks for putting me at ease, man.”

“The day you wish to be babied, I believe Hell will well and truly have frozen over.” Cas grins at Dean, and then approaches the entrance to the warehouse without a backward glance. The flickering sign says “MacLir trading” and a couple of windows have really huge cracks going through them, the rest are stained with soot. It’s a squat and low building, nearly the colour of old bone underneath the grime. The wind smells somewhat like apple cider that’s gone off.

Cas eases the door open and slips inside; his enhanced senses telling him that there is much unpleasantness to be found here. The smell of stale apple cider is now a stench constantly assailing his nostrils.

Feet light as his feathers, Cas walks quietly, not completely trusting his eyes. Here and there, discarded objects of the warehouse’s former use seem distorted beyond just mere age and disuse. A very human swallow passes through his throat, as a sense of panic rises in him and Cas realises that he is worried about Sam, worried about what might have happened to him.

Steps faster now, Cas sweeps through to a larger section and stops. He can see the side of a cage beyond some discarded pallets, but something doesn't feel right. Slowly, Cas peers around the wooden pallets and sees a cage with Sam sat up inside it.

Cas sweeps the area, unsure if the outlines on some things are blurring, or if it’s just mist and imagination. Nothing of note happens, however, so he approaches the cage. “Sam?”

“Cas!” Sam looks overjoyed to see him. “Is Dean ok?”

The angel frowns. “Yes. Nothing untoward has happened to either of us for the moment.”

“Oh, thank God. Get me out of here before they come back.”

Castiel looks around for a key, and doesn’t see one. “That may have to wait until Dean’s arrival.”

Sam sighs and bangs his head on the bars. “Okay. Hey Cas, come here.”

Cas comes closer, senses on high alert. “Yes, Sam?”

“What was it like, when you took me out of the cage?” Sam puts his hand out, keeping one hand near the crowbar while he reaches for Castiel.  
  
Puzzled, Castiel puts one hand overtop of Sam’s, enveloping it in his own. “It was terrible. Lucifer and Michael, they were writ so large and awesome, their wrath burned so hot, I could barely see you through it. You were a smear, Sam. Like...formless clay. I remembered your shape but I could not call forth your soul. I fear it was so much ash, scattered everywhere…” Castiel bites his lip and looks down at their hands. Sam gives him a squeeze.

“It’s ok, Cas. I was just curious.” Sam smiles at Castiel reassuringly.

“It is no matter.” Castiel pivots away from the cage in a fluid motion, putting the bulk of his body between Sam and the incoming enemy. He rolls his shoulders and squares his jaw, fiercely glaring into the gloom.

“ _You_. You are responsible for this.”

Dawn steps forward, still mostly concealed by shadow. “Fancy that. Goldilocks here let my Uncle die, aided and abetted by that shit-heel Bobby Singer.”

“You have been gravely misinformed about events.”

“No, I got it. It was all very tragic and out of their hands. Well Bobby and the Bobby twins were cursed and they dragged my uncle down into hell with them. Fuck you, I’m done listening. It’s payback time.”

Dawn brings up her AK-47 and hits Castiel with a burst of gunfire. Sam screams, shocked. “CAS! CAS NO!”

Cas shakes himself like a dog shaking off water, and the bullets slowly ooze out of him. “You will not get to Sam again. Not as long as I’m still standing.” His stolen grace gives a warning spike like being doused in holy oil, but his expression never wavers.

“We’ll just have to fix that!” Dawn advances, dropping her gun and picking up a silver knife from inside her boot as she rushes Cas. She darts low, clearly trying to hamstring him, but all she gets for her efforts is a knee in the face and to be thrown to the opposite wall thanks to the angel’s speed and agility.

“Cas! Are you okay? Cas!” The bullets hit the floor, and Cas turns partly to face Sam to answer.

“Yes.” It’s the opening Dawn needed because she’s up in a blink and stabbing Castiel in the side, the dagger sliding right in between his ribs. He groans, grits his teeth and swears, then thrusts his palm up under Dawn’s jaw, knocking her back. The knife slides free with a squelch.

Just then, Dean bursts into the room. “FUCK! CAS! SAM!” He dives at Dawn, grabbing her wrist and bending it savagely until she drops the knife dripping with Cas’s blood, and in the same movement snaps up his elbow to smash in her nose while his ankle hooks her left leg out from under her; spinning her so her head hits the concrete floor, hard.

“You fucking bitch. Stay down, if you know what’s good for you,” Dean growls.

“Bastard! Manannan will have your ass for this! You’ll never see your brother again!” Dawn seethes on the floor, clutching her head as blood turns it strawberry blonde and rapidly spreads through her hair and onto the floor.

“Fuck you, you’re whistlin’ dixie all the way downriver. Crowley’s gonna have a real good time with your stupid ass. See you in hell, bitch!” Dean grabs his wicked dirk from its sheath, all ten inches of cold steel gleaming with dark promise as he stalks towards Dawn—only for Cas to grab his arm, one hand still clutching his wounded side. Dawn glares up at him, eyes struggling to stay open.

“Dean, no.” Castiel turns Dean, looking sadly into his eyes.

“This douche has to die. She’ll just keep coming. She won’t listen to reason and you know it, Cas.”

“Dean…”

“Let me have this. She’s not going to last long anyway, it’s mercy.” Blood burbles from Dawn’s nose and she coughs, likely having broken a rib from being tossed into a couple of walls. She turns her head to the side and struggles weakly to turn to her side.

“I’ve seen such “mercy” before, firsthand, as have you. Do you not recall Ephraim the Rit Zien?”

Dean grimaces, scrubs a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. “Fuck.”  
  
“Dean, Manannan is a very ancient God with a truly dreadful sense of humor. If she says you will not see Sam again, he can make that happen. Let us leave this place.” Castiel’s eyes burn into Dean’s until the elder Winchester looks away.

“Fine.” Dean comes back to the cage and sheathes his knife. “Heya’ Sammy,” he grins.

“Nice timing, dude.”

Bending down over Dawn, Castiel asks, “Do you have a key?”

Their AK-47 wielding friend doesn’t reply, but Cas observes how she manages to not pay attention to the chain around her neck. Reaching a hand down, Castiel pulls the chain away from Dawn with a sharp tug and fishes out a key.

“Here, Dean.” Castiel throws the key to Dean and the older Winchester snatches it out of the air.

Dean shoots Sam a grin, then tries the key in the gleaming lock, whistling. Castiel stands in vigil, looking between Dawn and the darkness ahead. The smell of fresh blood has diluted the smell of old cider only a little. The lock opens with a clunk as the tumblers slide back into place.

“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Let’s skidaddle.”

Sam grabs hold of Dean’s forearm and together they leverage Sam out of the cage. He stands up to his full height and stretches with a groan. “Thank God that’s over. Cages are the goddamn worst. What do we do about Dawn?” Sam asks, continuing to stretch and still clinging to the crowbar. “We just gonna leave her to… Manannan, is it?”

Clenching his jaw a moment, Dean thinks about how they got into this shitshow. “Could just drop her off at the nearest ER…”

“Yes, perhaps showing some clemency would help improve this mess.” Cas’s head keeps turning as he keeps an eye on their surroundings.

“Cas, you’re bleeding.” Sam looks down at the blood bloom showing in between the angel’s many layers.

“I’ll fix myself once we’re in the car. Come.” Cas begins leading the way, not showing Dawn enough clemency to be the one to pick her off the floor.

Sam steps down beside Dawn and looks at her pouting, hurt face. “You going to play nice?”

Dawn doesn’t reply, just glares. Sam pats her down, and satisfied he’s not going to be shot or stabbed, picks Dawn up and hefts her into his arms.

The retreat is swift after that point. Town car on the road again, Dean keeps throwing looks into the rearview mirror at Dawn who’s ensconced between Sam and Cas. “Don’t suppose you’re in the talking mood about this Manannan?”

Dawn responds with yet another glare.

“Cas, are you going to—” begins Sam.

The angel holds a hand to himself and begins to heal the knife wound Dawn gave him. “See, Sam, nothing to worry about.” His stolen grace burns a little shorter and hotter; he resolutely doesn’t think about it.

Dawn turns to consider the angel, giving him a look that suggests she still thinks he’s an abomination.

It’s not far to the nearest ER and Dawn allows herself to be “dumped” before the guys scramble to get away before any questions are asked. Of course she may still contact Manannan again, but at least he’s not the cops. Sam returns to the backseat as does Cas.

Once Dean has the car on the road again, it’s Cas that closes the distance between him and Sam.

“So, how do we gank this Manannan anyway?” Dean asks, eyes on the road.

There’s no reply from the backseat. Dean looks in the rearview mirror and finds Cas and Sam are looking at each other nervously. Dean smirks. _They’re like two teenagers on opposite sides of the gym at junior prom._ He returns his eyes on the road and resigns himself to not getting answers at this point.

Sam swallows and takes Cas’s hand, covering it with his own. He stares into the angel’s eyes, willing him to understand what he can’t say because he still doesn’t even know how to put it to words.

Castiel gives him a shy smile, bringing his other hand up and sandwiching Sam’s hands between his. “I was… very perturbed by your abrupt departure, Sam. If Dean hadn’t said to turn on the radio…” his expression darkens, muscle ticking under his jaw as he clenches it. “You’d still be in that cage.”

Sam looks away, ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean barks a laugh from the front. “Yeah, you’re sorry. We’re all always sorry. It doesn’t matter for shit. Mistakes were made, we’ll do that and dumber crap again. I get it, Sam.”

Sam sighs, “Maybe.”

Cas squeezes his hand. “Definitely,” he gives Sam a small smile. His hand on top leaves Sam’s, and he digs his nails harshly into the meat of Dean’s neck, fingers pushing with bruising pressure in the vulnerable area between collarbone and shoulder. The elder Winchester jerks the wheel slightly to the left in surprise before steering straight again. “ **Dean.** ”

“Owww! Christ Cas, the hell?”

“You will cease needling Sam about his sex life. _Immediately._ ”

“Fine. Geez. Like him running off and and nearly becoming some psycho god’s plaything once wasn’t enough.”

Cas lets up the pressure, and Sam stares out the window, unable to look at either of them.

Dean grumbles something under his breath to the effect of how is he going to get his jollies now, and lousy overprotective angels and girly little brothers, and is ignored entirely.

Cas pulls Sam close, and whispers low and soft into his ear, lips brushing the earlobe. “When this case ends… I am going to ravage you, Sam Winchester. You are going to be debauched most thoroughly and enjoyably. Until then...” Castiel moves away, but still close enough that his breath ghosts across Sam’s face, “it is clearly too much of a risk to let our guards like that down again.”

Sam blinks rapidly, pulse fluttering in his throat and pounding in his ears. _I don’t even know how to— how do I handle this guy? He just says stuff like that when Dean is right there and…_ Sam bites down on his lip. _It’s kinda’ hot. I mean it’s kind of even hotter that way. I mean I don’t even know if he knows—_ Sam’s thoughts swirl in confusion, the chain of logic getting increasingly blurrier as he tries to understand if Cas has any concept at all of any of that.

Sam blinks, snapped out of his daze as Cas’s mouth covers his own. The kiss is slow, maddeningly deliberate as it gets increasingly filthier. Cas progresses from a slowly increasing pressure until his lips are crushing Sam’s; his tongue goes from peeking out, to teasing Sam’s bottom lip, to sliding against his tongue. _What—_ Sam’s breath comes quickly, not quite panting as the kiss ends. “Wh-what was that?”

“You were thinking far too hard.” Sam sputters indignantly while Cas and Dean share a smirk in the rearview mirror, the latter tipping the former a two-fingered salute.

“Tch, stealing my best lines. Asshole.”

“Jerk.” Cas grins, and Sam pulls him close, giving him a small peck on the lips.

“Thief.”

“I learned from the best. You have stolen my—”

“CAS! I swear to God—” Sam says, face burning.

Castiel continues, smiling with one side of his mouth, “sense of propriety.”


	9. Chapter 9

A quick break-in at the local police impound liberates the few “tools” that Sam had stashed in their first stolen car. They drive by the motel and pick up the rest of their stuff before checking out. It’s early evening by now and they still need to research how to stop Manannan.

“What is this language?” Dean asks as he writes strange runes, using a soot dipped finger, on the walls of the third motel room they’ve checked into that day.

“It’s Old Irish. The phrases are drawn from the ogham alphabet,” Sam responds, eyes on his phone’s screen.

Cas works a series of Celtic knot patterns into the room’s door. “Do you believe this will work?”

“No, but if it stops us having any unexpected visitors then I’d like to take that chance.”

Dean dabs more soot from the bowl in his hand and continues to write onto the wall. “Why soot?”

“Something about it obscuring the truth, I think.”

They finish their scrawls soon enough. With what few relevant tomes they have on them and Sam and Dean’s laptops both on, the three of them begin looking at how they might kill or at least temporarily disable the god. Junk food wrappers and empty beer cans slowly pile up around them.

“Apparently, Manannanán mac Lir, was once seen a little like a reaper, but with necromancer like powers, and was considered a god. His domain primarily being that of the sea… he had a cloak of invisibility, like sea mist, and… a flaming sword that could cut through any armor and when pointed at a being would compel them to answer questions truthfully.” Sam swallows and nervously puts a hand through his hair.

Manannan’s words to Sam echo through his mind. _“Do you_ love _that angel? Something for you to ponder.”_ Sam swallows nervously again, unnoticed. _Does he plan to test me?_

Dean’s brow creases and he triumphantly thumps his table by a window. “Got something!”

Rushing up from his seat, Sam ends up jostling for space behind Dean with Cas. The angel uses this moment of closeness as an opportunity to wrap an arm around Sam and pull him close against his side. Sam’s breathing hitches.

“Get this, mister seeker of truth does not like seeing the truth.” Dean points at his screen. “Mister invisibility cloak will totally whig out if confronted with his own image. I don’t think you can kill him, but we can make him take a nap until he can be someone else’s problem.”

“How can one be a god of the sea and yet be vulnerable to one’s own reflection?” Cas pulls Sam a little closer.

_Do you love that angel?_

Dean jabs at his screen. “Because the sea lies. Hides all kinds of old crap and ugly-ass fish. What Manannan can’t handle is the truth of himself. He can pull the truth out of regular joes and gods and druids all the livelong day. But this bastard is so wound in on himself that it’s like showing a groundhog its shadow!”

Sam tries to regain some of his composure. “So we just shove a mirror in his face and what? Like taking Osiris out that one time in Michigan? He’ll just simmer down for a while?”

“You’re worrying again,” Cas whispers to Sam. Before Dean answers Sam’s questions, Cas twists and cups Sam’s face with his free hand and draws the younger Winchester into a kiss. _Do I love Cas?_ Sam manages to ask himself as he takes the lead and draws the angel’s mouth open, and eagerly brushes his tongue against Castiel’s.

“Last time anyone saw Manannan was more than six hundred years ago. Sounds like some Irish monks dealt with him.” Dean looks up from his screen and over his shoulder to find Cas and Sam kissing behind him.

Dean slams a hand down on the table. “C’mon guys! We’re working here!” Sam jumps away from Cas and straight into the wall by the table.

“Oh for the love of—!” Dean scrubs a hand through the hair at the back of his neck and sighs in frustration. Cas meanwhile, is looking torn between abashment and concern for Sam, keeping him glued in place but reaching out to the younger Winchester. “I don’t care, what y’all do. You know that, right? But we’re on a damn case and this thing has already messed with us once. More than freakin’ once.”

“I _know_ that, Dean. It’s fine. Drop it already.” Sam folds his arms, refusing to look at Cas or Dean again, even as the angel is gently resting a hand on his arm. “Cas, don’t okay? Just don’t.” 

Sam swallows hard, staring a hole into a stain on the ceiling like it can be burnt from existence just by his fury. Sam sees Cas nod out of the corner of his eye and start making his way to Dean. He sits beside Dean on the bed, thigh touching his brother’s as he sits close to squint at the laptop. Sam shoves down the pang he feels to see them so close, looking so right together.

_It’s fine. He said he made his choice. God, why can’t it be that easy between us?_ Sam is seized by jealousy; by the urge to tear Castiel away (caveman-like by his hair) and make him his, anchor him with intimacy, smear his scent and fluids all over Cas to mark him _MINE MINE MINE_. 

Sam comes around and sits close to Cas on the bed, crowding him much worse than Cas is crowding Dean. He defiantly slings an arm around the angel’s shoulders, fingertips not quite brushing his brother. Dean looks over and arches an eyebrow at the sudden dip in the bed and rolls his eyes at Sam’s jealous glare above Cas’s head but doesn’t comment. 

Cas leans into Sam, slightly away from Dean. The angel turns his nose into Sam’s collar and inhales deeply. Sam gets goosebumps and fidgets slightly, pants being just a little tight. _I know this is messed up. I also know I don’t give a damn_. 

Dean is saying something, and Cas is saying something, but it just goes in one ear and out the other. Vision a haze of red, Sam pushes Castiel down onto the bed, ignoring Dean’s startled protest. He climbs on top of the angel and pins his wrists above his head, kisses him deeply, passionately, wantonly rolling his hips into his, and Castiel responds with a filthy moan, squirming underneath him.

Maybe Dean is standing there looking on in shock. Maybe that makes it better. Maybe Sam really wants Dean to see just _what he does to Castiel_. 

He glares up at his brother, who has pupils blown wide-open, face flushed an alarming shade of red, freckles standing out. _You can’t have this. This is not yours. This is ours. He is MINE, asshole!_ Sam lowers his face down to Castiel’s neck, biting down gently, starts sucking in a hickey as he holds eye contact with Dean.

“You stand there. You stand there and watch while I take him apart. While I do all the things to him that you never could. That you can _never_ give him.”

Dean swallows thickly. “Sam—”

“Fuck you.”

Dean tries again. “Cas—... Christ Cas, is this what you really want?”

“Yes.” The angel is looking sinful, lips flushed from his little brother’s kisses, hands pinned above his head, eyes half-shut. His hips— his hips rolling up, his body writhing. _They’re— Fuck they’re—_

“Watch,” Cas says, his tone the low kind that drags Dean into the special hell where he is a bystander to his little brother and his best friend doing—things. 

Dean closes his eyes and his breathing becomes erratic. _Fuck. Someone’s got to keep a level head here. There’s— there’s no telling what could happen if I left them alone like this—_ he opens his eyes and forces himself to watch. He knew Sam was toppy after he told Dean in _way too much detail_ about that grossness with Ruby, but witnessing it firsthand is something else entirely. 

His little brother is an accomplished and bossy lover, and fuck is that goddamn weird to see.

Almost as surreal as seeing Cas, _an angel_ , his—no… their angel—completely undone, entirely without composure. Clothing is coming off, Sam ripping the tails of Cas’s shirt out of his pants and shoving it up over his face and arms. 

Cas pushes back long enough to rip it the rest of the way off his hands and flings it to the floor before arching his neck again, seemingly in invitation. 

Dean’s face feels a bit hotter and it’s not all embarrassment. Cas is beautiful. If he… if he just thinks of this like watching porn, when one of the guys isn’t that good looking but has a huge dick and is banging a hottie—maybe. Maybe it’s… not so bad. 

Dean zones out a little, just looking at Cas’s exposed chest then up the long line of this throat, then down again as the muscles bunch, struggling weakly as Sam holds him down again, large hands huge enough to easily encircle both wrists with one hand. 

Cas’s nipples look pretty close to his own; a nice milk chocolate brown to go with his tanned skin. Dean swallows, looks away, fights to keep his hands at his sides. He— He might need to. Sit down…. but… but then they’d see— _Oh Christ, what a frigging awful mess._

Sam is growling, teeth vicious as he bites Cas’s neck over and over, chest heaving, and Cas is pleading between kisses, for the touch of Sam’s bare skin on his own, so Sam stops. He stops and is ripping off his clothing before he dives back down to rid Cas of the rest of his, and honestly it’s— it’s kind of beautiful. He’s seeing something he isn’t supposed to—their skin slides together and Cas’s moan is low and guttural while Sam says Cas’s name like a prayer, covering the sides of his face in kisses.

“Sam— _Sam, please…_ ”

“ **Mine. You are mine. You are _mine_.** You will not forget it.” Sam looks up at Dean again, gaze searing hot with just the edge of vulnerability and hurt lurking underneath. “On your knees. Get on your knees Dean, and pray. Pray that Castiel will not decide to smite you in divine rage for coveting what is another man’s—”

Cas shoves Sam off of him, and _holy hell is that fucking hot_ — before he gets on his knees and takes Sam in his mouth, just swallows his dick without a trace of hesitation, and good lord was his little brother not so little, in uh, a lot of ways— and Dean obeys. He sinks to his knees. They can’t hold him anymore. Sam grins at Dean in dark satisfaction, carding his hands through Castiel’s hair as the angel bobs on his cock.

Dean groans, it feels like his skin’s on fire, like his cock is going to explode right out of his pants and he’s almost there, almost past the point of shame— then Cas turns his head just so, and locks eyes with Dean, and he can’t help it anymore.

“You’re so beautiful, Cas. Oh God. You’re doing such a good job. Keep doing that, keep making my little brother feel good— I wish it were me. Oh God, _I fucking wish it were me._ ”

Sam is in control, somehow. _Fucking somehow_. “But it’s not, and it never will be. This is the first time you’ve done this, isn’t it Castiel?” Cas hums an affirmative.

“The first and last cock that’s ever going to be in your mouth, and it’s going to be mine. Isn’t it?” He grabs Cas’s hair and tugs him off his cock to lock eyes with him. “ _Isn’t it?_ ”

“Yes, Sam.”

“I’m the only one. I’m only ever going to _be_ the only one. Aren’t I?”

“Yes.” Cas looks up at Sam, eyes dark with lust and huge with adoration and longing.

“I’m going to fuck you now. Dean, toss the lube over. I know you have some. I know you always do, you fucking slut.”

Dean scrabbles through his duffel bag and tosses the lube to Sam, transfixed. He wants to touch himself, really really badly. “Sam…”

“Shut up.”

“No. Sam, don’t you think your first time with Cas should be…. I don’t know, special? Private?”

Sam coaxes Castiel back up on his knees, positions him on his lap. “I want him to choose me. Over you. I want the memory of the first time we have sex to be full of you not touching him, not being anywhere near him, of him staying here. While I, and _I alone blow his fucking mind_.” 

Castiel whines and that is just not fair, no one with a voice that deep should be able to sound that high-pitched and needy, but he is, and Dean wonders how the hell he’s supposed to get through this without jizzing in his goddamn pants. 

Sam uncaps the lube and coats his fingers, starts working Castiel open. Cas gasps, flinching away a little, but Sam steadies him with his other hand, gripping his hip so hard it might bruise.

It’s hot, so unbelievably fucking hot, and Dean can’t help it, he’s not jealous but envious, all of Sam’s long fingers disappearing into the angel, steadily increasing in number and Dean caves. 

He opens his pants and puts his hand inside, biting his lip as he watches his brother ruthlessly seek out Cas’s prostate and press it repeatedly once he finds it, if the _goddamn indecent and positively filthy_ sounds he’s making are any indication. His eyes slip a little shut but he’s glued, all-in, helpless to stop rubbernecking at this trainwreck.

It’s too long and too short a time later, and Sam is slicking up his cock and pushing it to Cas’s entrance, one hand still wrapped tight and possessive around the angel’s hip.

_“Sam….please… hurry…. I can’t…_ ” Dean has no idea if Cas is speaking just for himself or for them both, but he feels it all the same. “Need… Need _you_ …” he whimpers, and Sam is pushing himself into Cas now, groaning.

“Oh fuck. So tight, Cas. So good…” He bends down and kisses the back of Castiel’s neck, nibbling gently as he slowly seeks bottom, pausing once he’s all the way in to let Cas adjust.   
“You like that, Cas? You like feeling what you do to me? You like seeing what you do to Dean? Touching himself like he’ll never get to touch you?” 

Cas moans, and Dean bites viciously at his lips, tasting blood as his orgasm starts to near. _Why. Oh God why, Sam. Christ…_

Sam wraps a hand around Cas’s erection, and starts stroking him in a lazy rhythm as he begins to slowly fuck him. “How’s that, angel? How do you like being full of me, having my hands on you, having my body covering your own?” Cas gasps and bucks, whimpering.

“Sam… oh yes, Sam.... it’s… It’s really unbelievably good… More. _More, please…_ ”

“Yes. That’s a great idea. Grab the headboard, Cas.” Castiel does so, back arched, legs spread wide, full of his little brother’s dick and so unbelievably hot it burns Dean. 

Sam drives into him ruthlessly, settling a grueling rhythm the angel seems to love, fucking back onto Sam’s big dick with enthusiasm. 

_How does this even work. I mean I saw this and I’m still seeing this and I don’t believe it. I really kind of don’t believe any of this_ — Cas’s dick is twitching, his thighs are tensing, his mouth drawn into an o as he pants, as they both pant, and then he’s shooting come all over the bed—all over _Dean’s_ bed—and the smell hits Dean, and Cas is so wild, almost more than Sam and Dean blows his load too, making a mess of his pants.

“Christ. Oh Jesus.” Dean groans, “ _Cas._ ”

Sam bites down hard on Cas’s neck, and pounds into him as he trembles and twitches another couple moments before making a muffled cry, apparently reaching his own orgasm. Dean sits there, dazed, and starts tucking his junk back in.

“Cas. Get up. Get up, angel. Walk over to Dean.” Castiel looks up at Sam, puzzled and kind of groggy. Sam withdraws his semi-hard dick, causing Cas to wince a little and make a small noise.

“Sam, I am not sure I can—”

“You can.” He smiles at Castiel. “And you will. Because I asked you to, and you are mine.”  
Cas’s dick gives a twitch, and he kisses Sam, slow and filthy. “Mmm. Now go.”

Castiel walks over to Dean, comes to within a foot of him, his junk at Dean’s eye-level before Sam says, “Stop. Right there. Now turn around, Cas.” 

Castiel obeys, and what a goddamn shame it was that he only saw the whole thing from the side, because Cas’s ass is truly a beautiful sight to behold and Dean knows he is never going to see it again.

“Now reach down, bend over and hold your ankles for me.”

Cas complies wordlessly.

“Dean.” Dean’s head snaps up, and he looks around Cas to Sam.

“Wh-what?” His voice is shakey and thready, nearly unrecognizable.

“Grab his legs, spread them apart, and take a real good look.” When did Sam become a _goddamn sorcerer_ , because Dean is doing exactly that, Cas’s thighs tensing beautifully under his hands, slick with sweat and— _Oh_.

“Look, Dean. Look at what I did to him. What only _I will do_ to him. See that, smell that…. put your finger in it, taste it. You fucking eat that come or I am _never_ talking to you _again and you will never see either of us ever again._ ”

“Christ Sammy… calm… calm down, okay?” _I can’t believe I’m freaking doing this._

“Cas, I’m going to touch you, okay? I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I trust Sam.” Dean winces, feeling that like a punch in the gut. _But not me? Is that why you stopped calling me, Cas?_ He rubs the pad of his thumb along his friend’s asshole, and shows the glistening digit to his brother. “Okay?”

“Yes. Now put that in your mouth and suck.”

Dean swallows. _There isn’t enough goddamn Scope in the world for this_. He does so, and it’s undeniably spent ejaculate, it is beyond a shadow of a doubt his little brother’s seed, and he sucks his thumb clean, desperately wishing they’d never heard of a cursed arcade in this dilapidated old town. The semen sticks to his throat and burns as it stays suspended along the back.

“I get it, okay? I… I do. Alright?”

“Cas, come back over here.”

Castiel returns to Sam, settles into his arms as the taller man tugs him in and holds him close, pulling a rucked up sheet over them. “Good. Now get the fuck out.”

Dean feels like he’s going to vomit. “Yeah. Okay.” Dean gets the hell out of there, shoulders through the door to Sam and Cas’s adjoining room. He puts his back to the door and slides down, puts his head in his hands. _This has got to have been that asshole god’s doing_. 

It smells like ozone and the dryer sheets Sam is fond of in here. It smells like Cas and Sam, and there’s no escaping it. Sam had made really _Goddamn sure of that_. 

He grabs a tiny bottle of whiskey out of the mini-fridge and swishes it in his mouth before swallowing in huge gulps, then puts his head in his hands.

Back in Dean's room, Sam kisses Castiel’s face—raining kisses on him. “I know that was messed up, Cas. But you liked it, didn’t you?”

“I have never been so wanted. Have never felt so desired… and knowing Dean was completely helpless.... seeing and feeling that he had no claim on me, not like you have— it felt good. It felt wrong but I could not bring myself to care. I can be myself with you, Sam. Please, next time, let it be you and I, not you and I and Dean.”

“That’s the plan.” Sam kisses Castiel soft and fleeting, in complete counterpoint to what had passed between them only scant moments ago. Sam holds his gaze.   
“I’m sorry I got crazy. I love you, Cas. I want to be with you, if you’ll have me—not just, not just sex. Is that okay?” Sam is suddenly shy, blushing a little, almost afraid to look at the angel’s face.

Cas’s voice is a steady, reassuring rumble. “Yes, Sam. That is much more than okay.” He kisses him slow and gentle, just a soft press of lips with no erotic intent behind it.  
“I think I love you as well. I am unsure exactly how much of it is currently romantic in nature, but I know it’s going to become a little more that way each day.”

Sam sighs quietly, “Yeah. I guess— I guess it’s about the same with me. I need to rest for a little while, okay? Please keep watch.”

“Alright.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Why is there mist in my room?_ Dean had managed to fall asleep, somehow, but now he is awake, his lamp on and mist swirling about the floor. The room smells of iodine and stale cider. Brain catching up with present events and earlier research, Dean doesn’t need to guess who is responsible.

Gingerly placing his feet on the motel room floor, Dean waits to see if anything will happen. Nothing does. _It’s just a taunt. He knows where we are. Knows we’re coming for him._

Pulling clothes on, grabbing his gun and a silver knife, Dean is about to leave his room when Cas, _thank fuck he’s fully dressed_ , storms into his room.

“Manannan knows we are here.” Castiel's gaze is sharp, burrowing into Dean. A complete contrast to four hours ago.

“You think?” Dean manages, wondering what the old god is going to do next. They still didn’t have what they needed to take care of the bastard, but Dean already knows where they needed to go next. A shadow fills the doorway and Dean looks at Sam. Everything seems normal and it is beginning to freak Dean out a little. _This is just… I can’t think about this now. We gotta do something._

“We need to get our mitts on a super-shiny chunk of dragonglass, ASAP.” Dean starts out the door.

“Obsidian? Where exactly are we going to get that?” Sam asks, tone fine, a hint of sarcasm. Nothing like the voice he’d been using to boss Cas and him around.

Dean pauses just outside, in the hallway. “There’s a New Age store in town with several stones that could work. I checked their website before… uh, shit got weird.”

Cas looks thoughtful. “Weird...hmm…”

A far away look creeps up Sam’s face and then a blush. “Right.” _He’s turning red? How the fuck does he get to be the one that turns red?! No, no focus Dean, fucking focus._

“Someone grab the soot,” Dean orders as he strides towards the town car. No point in making things easy. They head out to into the new day.  
  


***  
  


It’s too early for anyone to actually take any real notice of them and the strange soot stains that mark their stolen car. Sam is sitting in front with Dean, with Castiel in the back. Sam is trying to get his head around the notes that Dean has made. His brain feels like it dumped out half of the useful things it learned the previous day and he’s fighting to keep his thoughts on task.

“Sam, are you alright?” Cas leans towards him over the seat.

Sam’s heart clenches a little at the sound of Cas’s voice and his closeness. “Yeah, yeah, just tired, I guess.”

That earns Sam a wide eyed glance from Dean before Dean pulls his eyes back to the road. “We’re almost there.”

Pulling up outside of 'Namaste: Treasures from around the world,' there’s no sign of life yet; eight in the morning is too early. Sam helps Dean check for security measures and they disable a control box around the corner with a few simple tools.

Dean’s picking the store locks without a moment’s hesitation. “Okay, done the smash, now for the grab. Leave cash if you want, but we’re not sticking around. Cas: you keep watch.”

The locks give way and no alarms sound. Sam follows Dean into the store and starts looking for the cut of obsidian that he had found online. The whole place reeks of burned incense and is filled with all sorts of things that may or may not have any actual power. Getting deeper into the store, Sam pulls out a flashlight and flicks the beam over the shelves and stands and finally reaches a semi-precious stones display.

There’s only one hunk of obsidian there that looks anything like what Dean had shown him and it is polished smooth on one side. _I guess this has to be it._ Sam checks around for another minute on either side of the display, then picks up the stone. In the low light, his reflection looks washed out and blurry. _I thought this thing was supposed to be a mirror? Maybe it’s not smooth enough?_

Sam rubs a thumb over the surface, and nearly cuts his thumb on a sharp edge. _Oops. Well it’s polished enough_. He turns it this way and that in the light, then brings it close to his face again. _This is pointless. If it’s not good enough we can just return it later. I need to get a better look in the light_. Sam takes a reusable grocery bag out of his pocket and shoves the stone in, then makes his way to the back where Dean is getting the fire exit open.

Dean shoots him a grin. “Hope they’re insured. Freakin’ hippies. Let’s scram, Sam.” The adrenaline from doing a B&E seems to have improved his brother’s mood somewhat, and Sam answers him with a small smile and a nod. He feels a little guilty over the prior night, but not enough to wish to take any of it back. Seeing Dean’s carefully composed facade crumble had satisfied something deep in his lizard brain and something not so primal that was all mixed up in being the younger brother that fell apart every time Dean died.

They head out into the wan light of early morning, Sam closing the door. It’s one-sided, the kind without a handle on the outside. No alarm goes off, so that’s a bonus.

“So… where to now?”

“Let’s get some grub. We’ve got a couple of hours to kill before Baby’s out of the shop.”

“Oh, right. Sure. Hey, I’m not 100% sure this piece of obsidian is a decent mirror, let’s drive a little ways out so I can get a good look at in the light, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Sam.” Dean sticks his hands in his coat pockets and is not looking at him. That was twice, now. Usually it was Sammy this and Sammy that—Sam feels a pang in his gut. Is this because of last night? He’s not sure how he feels about this. Who knew it took raunchy toppy sex with a guy’s best friend right in front of his face to get his big brother to stop using a dumb childhood nickname?

They head around the front and Cas comes back into view, and then Sam’s brain feels fuzzy again. _Gotta... gotta get a good look at this rock. Get some food. Focus on the case. Can’t—_ the angel smiles at them both, and it’s small and shy, tentative as his small two-fingered wave.

“Hello. Nothing untoward happened in your absence.”

“Good times. Not like yesterday, huh?”

Castiel’s gaze is cool as he looks at Dean. “I believe you were fully present for the entirety of that.”

Dean jerks like he’s been burned, and Sam is not sure he likes this tension. It feels _wrong_.

“Yeah, I was in a threesome last night, and it sucked ‘cause there was an extra guy I didn’t want there: Me.” Dean is flushed with anger and embarrassment, practically vibrating.

“That didn’t stop you from touching yourself, from saying filthy things to me and orgasming with my name on your lips.”

“Cas, I’m… I’m only human, okay?”

Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and he skitters out from beneath the touch. “Dean—”

“I expect better from a fucking _angel_ , and he just let it happen—”

“Apologies. I was unaware being a lowly seraph equipped me for dealing with hedonism.”

Dean crumples, turning ghastly pale. He looks like he’s gonna puke. “Cas—”

His brother and his best friend shouldn’t be fighting. That’s when everything always turns to shit. _I did this_.

Sam strides over to Cas and puts a hand on the back of his neck, squeezing gently, and the angry retort about to spring forth dies before it can leave his lips.

Having Dean look kicked in the gut is satisfying to Sam in a way it probably wouldn’t have been without the quasi-consensual angel possession that'd happened recently. His brother didn’t seem to realize just how much the ends had failed to justify the means. Sam hadn’t been aware of it happening, but it was by his hand that—that _Kevin_ —… Kevin, was gone, and it was the only thing that came back to him when he thought of anything that happened since the trials.

That was just the biggest thing. That wasn’t even mentioning the other shittiest thing Dean had done, which was let Gadreel convince him to kick Cas to the curb during his lowest ebb. Now that he’s aware of his feelings towards Cas, Sam is doubly furious about how Dean had failed to help their friend. _But, all Dean's been doing for years now is push us both around without asking how we feel about any of it. I still can't believe he said he'd put me through it all over again without even the illusion of choice. His self-entitled bullshit pisses me off so bad! That's why I let him walk off the other week without saying anything._ Without trying to disabuse him of the notion that he was poison.

Last night had been a way to vent some of the fury bubbling deep in his subconscious, a way to take back some control, to forcibly needle Dean with the illusion of consent. _I know last night was fucked up and perverse, but **God** just for once I needed to feel like I was in the damn driver's seat. But, maybe it was—_ Sam stops the thought in its tracks that asks for reflection; that it had been too much, that although Cas is healing him, there are parts of him that are messed up and will stay messed up.

Sam drops his hand from Cas to rub at the back of his own neck. “Let’s not—let’s not do this now.” _I can’t do this without thinking about how ready I was to die, back at that church. Without remembering my hand burning Kevin right out of his skull_.

"Yeah, yeah okay, Sammy.” Dean rakes a hand through his hair and gets into the sedan they stole. _I’ll never understand why we didn’t just take a loaner car from the shop. Well, guess it saves time in the end._

Sam looks into Cas’s eyes and there’s tension tightening them at the corners. “You were correct, Sam. This was really not the time nor place for that discussion.”

“It’s ok, Cas. You’re new to this.”

“But I’m not new to Winchesters.” They share a small smile and Sam closes the gap, kissing him gently. This goes on for a moment before getting deeper, then steamy, and Dean lays on the horn before sticking his head out the window.

“No time for love, Dr. Jones! Stow the kissy-face crap ‘till later!”


	11. Chapter 11

Getting into the front of the car, Cas once again right behind him, Sam tries to keep his thoughts on dealing with their sea mist swirling Irish god. The piece of obsidian weighs heavily in the grocery bag and as the sun rises on the horizon, Sam slips it out and takes another look at its smooth surface.

Dean’s just pulling into a parking lot beside a diner when Sam catches all three of their reflections within the stone’s dark glistening polished side. Dean looks normal, but Sam and Cas? Their mirrored faces ripple as if caught in a tidal pool, Sam’s hair billowing from his head in gentle waves.

“Do you want breakfast or not?” Dean slaps him on the shoulder and Sam realizes that this is the second time he’s been asked that question.

He stows the stone in the bag, but brings it in with them. _Maybe I just need to eat something_ , Sam tries to convince himself. _We’ll see. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hallucinated something and it probably won’t be the last_. Breakfast is uneventful; Sam picks at his food, Dean devours his, and Castiel predictably tries to steal all the bacon. The atmosphere is uneasy at best, nothing like the carefree playing around that had happened the day prior.

Silently, Sam knocks back cup after cup of coffee and largely ignores his food. _Looks like I didn’t need the magic veil of an old god to put a distance so great between us that I don’t know if we’ll ever find our way back to each-other. I fucked up, **again**._

Dean looks over at him. “You should eat your food, Sammy. You’re a growin’ boy.” He tries to grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Castiel rubs his thigh gently, and his brother and his best friend’s eyes meet across the table.

“You will need your strength, Sam.” Cas states plainly, raising a hand to tuck a bit of bang behind Sam’s ear. Sam blushes a little, but picks his fork back up and tries to eat. It’s slow going but he manages to eat about half of his food.

Dean looks worried, still. He leans forward over the table and puts a hand on Sam’s arm. “Hey, next big city we hit, we’ll get some of that dumb vegan “food” you like, Okay? So buck up.” _I guess he can’t be that mad._ Sam nods, perks up a little. He’s finished breakfast by the time Cas and Dean are on their second cups of coffee.

It’s mid-morning now, the sun shining brightly as they leave the diner. Sam pulls out the chunk of obsidian and regards it evenly. It’s the same as before: His reflection looks fathoms deep, drowned.

“Guys, come here, look at this.” Castiel is first, as he is trailing behind Sam while Dean walks ahead. The angel’s reflection is also watery and washed-out looking; skin even paler despite the blackness of the stone mirror.

Cas frowns at the stone, taking it from Sam’s hand, turning it around so it reflects different angles of light. He catches both of them in the polished black surface. “We appear to be under an enchantment of some kind, presumably Manannan's.”

“Great, just great.” Dean groans. “Peachy- _freakin’_ -keen. Give that here.” He snatches the stone out of Cas’s hand and observes himself. Dean’s reflection appears normal. “Huh, guess it’s some gay thing.” He shoots a shit-eating grin at Sam and Cas; the former bitchfaces and the later has on his “120% done” face.

“ _Dean_.” Castiel grabs him by the front of his shirt, nearly touching their noses together, holds eye contact, and licks his lips slowly and deliberately. Dean swallows and his cheeks and tips of his ears redden; Cas grabs the obsidian shard back and smiles in grim satisfaction, then turns his back on Dean. He comes back over to Sam, wrapping his arms around from behind, resting his cheek on the taller Winchester’s shoulder.

“Y-you…Okay, _whatever_ , point made, Mr. Still-doesn’t-get-personal-space.”

Sam feels torn in two directions as Cas uses him as a shield. On the one hand, it’s _Cas_ , and that feels nice, and seeing his angel torment his brother is fun. On the other hand, this is playing right into Manannan's hands in all likelihood and keeping them distracted.

“Can we go get the Impala from the shop and… handle things.” Sam’s voice is tired. Castiel grips him harder, not wanting to let him go. “Cas?”

The seraph loosens his grip and Sam follows Dean back to their hot-wired ride.


	12. Chapter 12

Standing out of the way, Castiel observes Dean and Sam through a window while they haggle over the bill for the work on Baby. The stone is still with him, back in its bag. He holds it close like a talisman. Having physical distance between himself and Sam allows his head to clear a little, enough for him to regain near his usual sense of vigilance and to ponder the nature of the enchantment that Sam and he have been put under.

The draw is still there, Cas can’t ignore that. It is taking a great deal of self-control to stay where he is, beside the Winchesters' car. They’d already loaded her back up with their things and once they had retrieved the rest of their belongings from the motel, they would be on their way to handle Manannan.

 _But why does this old god trouble itself with us? Why is it focused on Dean, Sam and I? Surely, one angel and two humans being friends isn’t that fascinating to such an ancient being?_ But Castiel’s thoughts are not clear enough to take him beyond that thought. Warily, his eyes scan their surroundings, from the innards of the shop to the street outside. A few mechanics are working on other vehicles.

There’s no mysterious mist or inexplicable shimmering hazes. No smell of stale cider or iodine. No bears. Just the three of them and the staff.

Briefly, Castiel pulls the polished hunk of obsidian out of its bag and gazes upon his own reflection. He’s still drowning. Cas glances over to Sam, putting the stone away, and wonders how much longer their price haggling is going to take. Sam catches his eye and then pats Dean on the shoulder before walking out of the office.

Each step that Sam takes closer to him, Cas can feel his tightly held sense of control slipping until it’s all just a facade. He stands there by the Impala and feels his vessel’s skin tingle and goosebumps form. The closing distance draws Castiel’s eyes and his awareness diminishes until all there is, is he and Sam. Cas’s gaze falls to Sam’s lips and all he wants to do is taste them and tease them, find what noises he can drag from the younger Winchester. _What different notes may I find_?

The moment Sam’s feet stop just far enough away from him, Cas puts a hand on Sam’s chest and rests it over his heart. The pulse of life thrums through Castiel’s hand and he’s so distracted for that second that he’s surprised when Sam’s lips meet his and his right hand cups the back of his neck. The kiss is gentle, but not chaste, Sam’s tongue sliding deftly between Cas’s lips. Sam tastes a little of coffee and eggs.

Whatever is happening in the garage around them is gone, it’s just Cas and Sam. The seraph instinctively leans against the hood of the Impala and spreads his legs so Sam can lean down between them. Joined at the lips, Cas is unsure if he can hear someone calling his name and Sam’s. All he can hear are the deep moans that Sam is making and their shared short breaths. Cas scoots further up the hood and Sam follows and they keep shifting until they’re both balanced on the paintwork.

Sam breaks away and looks down at Cas, confusion in his eyes. “Cas?” Sam whispers, voice rough from kissing.

Cas gives Sam a scorching look, blue eyes flashing, and the human is on him again, lips chasing his and it just feels right. Ghosting his hands up Sam’s sides, Cas just wants to urge Sam on further, get him to make new noises.

Someone’s shouting? Cas thinks and then forgets as Sam licks behind his molars.

“SAM! CAS! GET OFF OF THE DAMN CAR!” Dean is mortified, _I know they’re under a spell, but they can’t keep it in their pants for **five** damn minutes?_ Still, his brother and his angel look hot, getting all sloppy and spread-eagled on the hood of his baby. Even so, _unless the mechanic running the joint leans a particular way the free show is probably going to cost us our discount since we won’t have—heh, a leg to stand on—or you know, no leverage—_ Sam is sweeping Cas up in his big paws again, manhandling ( _angelhandling?_ ) him around on the hood like he’s a doll and weighs nothing at all; Dean feels his pants getting a bit tight. He rubs at the back of his neck and blushes.

He fidgets for half a second before gathering his wits and stage-whispering, “SERIOUSLY YOU ASSHOLES, THIS ISN’T THE DRIVE-IN! KNOCK IT OFF!” Dean strides forward and yanks Sam off the angel by the collar, then bitch-slaps him in the face for good measure. “ _Knock it **off** , Romeo_,” he hisses.

Head buzzing, ears ringing, Sam blinks and the world comes back to him. Eyes glancing from Dean’s flushed, angry face to Cas’s disheveled appearance—eyes hooded, hair sticking up in even more directions than usual, prominent bulge straining against his slacks—and then back to Dean (who is very clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable on many levels despite the smirk he’s wearing), what he was just doing for a live studio audience sinks in.

“I’ll go stand outside until you’re ready to drive.” Sam blushes and breaks his brother’s gaze; he doesn’t chance another glance at Castiel before striding out of the garage and to the front. He can feel the angel’s regard burning the back of his neck as he slinks out, tail between his legs.


	13. Chapter 13

Standing out on the loading bay, waiting, Sam scans the street, and he’s hyper aware of the gun in the back of his jeans and the knife he has tucked away. But he’s even more aware of how the added physical distance is making him ache for Cas and… _I don’t even know now if any of this is real. I don’t know if I really have feelings for him. Fuck… It all feels so real, at least when I’m not making Dean watch me sodomize Cas in a cheap motel room. I-I can’t believe I did that._

There’s a rumble as the Impala’s engine draws level with him and Dean and Cas pull-up alongside.

“You joining us?” Dean calls from the driver’s seat. Cas has taken shotgun. It looks wrong, but it still looks right, the two of them together. _I guess they must’ve made up when I wasn’t looking_.

Sam closes his eyes for a second and then climbs in the back, ignoring how being in a confined space with Cas is making him feel. All he can smell is the shampoo from the motel he gave Cas to wash his hair with, and the underlying scent of ozone —like the air after a lightning strike—that he always associates with the angel. They had showered together, vulnerable and open to each-other’s gaze, only the water between their naked skin as they had helped clean each-other up. There’d been sloppy half-drowning making out, and a bit of laughing, and it had felt nice; easy and relaxed, the spectre of what they’d just done to his brother completely faded to a weak shadow that touched them not at all in the swirling mist.

He wishes he were back in that time, feeling the cool tile at his back; instead he feels the warm leather of the Impala’s bench seat, anchoring him to the past and all the jumbled up feelings the words “family” and “home” contain for him. He slumps backward and lets his head rest on the top of the seat, glancing with half his attention up at the rearview mirror. His brother’s worried green eyes are reflected back at him, but Dean gives him a wink. He mouths something, looks like _“hot”_ and gives him a thumbs-up while jerking his chin in Cas’s direction. Castiel turns to give Dean a puzzled look, and Sam finds a smile tugging up his lips despite himself. Maybe Team Free Will is going to be okay.  


***  


Hauling their asses back to the motel, the three of them work as fast as longing gazes and sudden bursts of groping allow Sam and Cas to keep themselves in check. With Baby loaded up and their rooms checked out, Dean swings out of the motel and makes for the warehouse that Manannan was at. It’s not like they’re expecting the old god to just be there, Dean had checked out the bastard’s MO enough to understand that he was cocky, but not stupid.

Pulling up outside the aging concrete, Dean limps a little—his leg still not one hundred percent—and the three of them watching each other’s backs. They head on into where Sam had been kept captive. The stench of stale cider is gone and only a splash of blood and the cage Sam had been kept are the signs of the warehouse’s recent use.

“He’s not here.” Sam kicks at the cage.

“No shit, Sherlock, but maybe there’s a clue, you know, those things we often use to deduce where the bad mothers have gone off to next.” Dean is poking around some copies of recent newspapers he’s found stashed. He gets busy checking to see if any stories were missing or if anything had been circled.

“Perhaps Manannan has moved on.” Castiel stands near the entrance, stone gripped tight.

“That bastard wants us to find him. That whole mist trick this morning was a big flashing neon ‘come and get me’ beer sign. We just need to find where he’s holed up now. Anyway, he wouldn’t make things easy, just not his style.”

Dean’s still convinced the old god wants them to find him when, after an hour of searching, they have got nothing to show for it. Stomach rumbling, Dean finally relents that maybe they would need to try some other tactic to track Manannan down.

Heading on back into town, the guys eventually pull-up at a bar and go in.

“Why a bar?” Castiel asks, looking about the dingy interior.

“Because I’ve had enough of diners and I do some of my best thinking on a stool.”

Cas throws him a small grin, slightly sly. “Do you require a dunce cap as well?”

Dean scowls at Cas before picking a booth. Sam snickers helplessly, fiddling with his collar to hide his grin. He and Cas end up sitting next to each other and Dean opposite them.

The booth is out of the way and obscured a little by shadow. Sam pulls out his laptop and boots it up to help research ways of tracking down the old god.

They get beers and food: burger and fries for Dean, something that resembles a salad for Sam and Cas has a basket of chili fries for the sake of appearances. The bar crowd is pretty tame, couple of guys playing pool, some more hanging on at the bar. Quiet, general midday crowd.

Sam drops his fork and pulls Cas against him, hand slipping behind the seraph’s head. Dean sees this happen just as he returns from the restroom and he can see their eyes almost glaze over. There’s the smell of stale cider in the air and a hint of iodine. Sam’s frenching Cas before he even gets back to the table. Sure they have privacy, but it’s pretty clear that there’s an old Irish god in their midst.

A string from a fiddle squeaks and Dean spins round. The stage area he’d largely ignored up until now is suddenly awash with light and there in the center sits old Manannan, a fiddle set against his shoulder and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

The god winks and suddenly his right wrist snaps into action as a whirring, jaunty jig of a tune comes squealing out of the fiddle’s strings. The left hand of Manannan furiously working the chords, fingers sliding up and down the fiddle’s neck.

Dean glances at the other patrons in the bar and they all seem to be watching the performance with rapt attention, the kind where you don’t blink. Behind him, Dean is pretty sure he can hear Cas and Sam moaning as they verge on breaching public decency laws yet again. He takes a couple of steps back, the noises getting louder and his hands curl around the bagged obsidian.

“Cas!” gasps Sam from behind him and no, no Dean is not looking at the effects that this damned enchantment is wringing out of his brother and his best friend. He’s not going to look, despite how much his damn neck wants to snap and make him stare.

The tune fills Dean’s head and he is forced to look upon the stage. Manannan points the scroll at the top of the fiddle straight at Dean’s heart and he gazes upon the instrument. There’s flame shaped decals painted over a deep, sea blue background. _The sword is the fiddle_ , is the one thought Dean manages until he is swallowed up once more by the music.

Dean feels himself getting drawn into the music with growing horror. _No! What is this Mumford & Sons bullshit?_ The elder Winchester’s feet are moving without his volition, dancing a reel. He is literally dancing to someone else’s tune, and _boy, does that piss him off_. His heel taps the ground and he spins, linking an arm with another dancer. This goes on for some time; he does a move, a few bars pass, and he’s passed off to someone else. Over and over, until he’s right on the other side of the bar, away from his brother and his angel. _No….NO, SAM! CAS!_ He tries to dance his way back, but as long as the music is going, he’s helpless to disobey the whim of the crowd. It’s infuriating. _What a sick fucking joke. I see what you’re doing here._ A pretty brunette flashes a smile at him, wiggles her eyebrows and draws him close; they dance a pretty intricate reel together, limbs weaving in and out of each-other’s personal space. Dean gives her a little dip and smiles before she spins off, and he forgets to be mad for about two seconds, until his ankle twinges from all the activity. _No! Christ, this is no time to get distracted!_

The song finishes, and Manannan holds his fiddle and bow loosely in one hand while toasting Dean with what is most likely cider and a waggle of his eyebrows. Dean marches up to the stage, furious. “Listen, Pal, I don’t know what your game is, but I’ve had it! They’re— they’re a freaking parody of themselves. Everybody’s miserable. If you wanted to shove in our faces how fucked up we all are, bra- _freaking_ -vah.”

The old god sips his cider, eyebrows raised. He licks his lips slowly and deliberately. “Are you quite finished, my ill-mannered youth?”

Dean sneers, hand on the obsidian shard, and waits. _I need to know if he can turn them back or if they’re screwed if he up and poofs_.

"What is it you truly want, Dean?"

"To fight the good fight, with the two people I care most about by my side. To put away that bitch Abaddon for good." Dean slides a finger along the edge of the shard.

"You realize that whenever you take a drastic course of action, dire consequences are the result?" Manannan takes another sip of his cider, and looks meaningfully at the furious Winchester before him.

"Can it, Barnacle Bill. I ain't buying your Obi-Wan routine. Not with the shit you've made my family do. Made them into." Dean scowls, gripping the edges of the shard tightly. "C'mon, a freaking _angel_ acting that way? You think for a second I'd buy that's his own doing?"

Manannan smirks, drinks some cider, then passes a beer to Dean from one of his band-mates. "Dean, I believe you need this." The hunter accepts the beer, opens it, and takes a long greedy swallow—throat dry from talking and body sweaty from dancing.

"You see, when a _servant_ of heaven loves a human very much—" Dean chokes and sputters on his beer. He coughs and hacks weakly for a moment before angrily swiping his arm across his mouth.

"What? The fuck'd you just say?"

"Castiel loves your brother, Dean. And without my "sorcery" he'd be too paralyzed by feelings of duty towards you to do anything about it."

Dean's jaw drops. "Are you— are you seriously saying Cas has kept himself "off the market" just in case I want to— want to _use_ him?"

"Yes, if you wish to be crass about it. He is bound to you, and it is difficult for him to choose what he wishes under that yoke."

Dean's jaw works, and stunned, he drains his beer. He crumples the can in his fist. "Listen—"

"It's always the adios with you, isn't it? Always the hunt. Always dancing from one partner to the next, before they can realize the depths of your self-loathing and inability to give them what they need. You can't give Castiel what he needs."

Dean flushes hot, flashing back to those same words out of his brother's mouth the night before. "Listen, pal, I figured that out a long-ass time ago. So spare me, okay? They gonna go back to normal any time soon?"

The old god grins. "Well, my lad, that depends on you."

"What?" The room spins and Dean is in an open field that looks very familiar. "Son of a bitch!" He sinks to his knees and tears at the grass, gets mud under his fingernails. Idly, he observes a worm poking its head out from the soil. _Bet that'd be good bait. Christ, even now I can't stop thinking of hunting?_ Some trees have started to grow up around Dean's former burial site, small saplings. _Yeah yeah, I should be dead. What a freaking asshole._

" **This is what a thousands of years old god does for kicks? Make the guys who saved the damn world take separate vacations?** " Dean yells into the empty air.

He hears a chuckle inside his head but otherwise all he gets is silence. Dean sighs. _At least I know where I am. All this and that arcade's still hurting kids. If I'm lucky, the owners shut it down for a few days. Bet that hole in the plaster gave 'em something to think about._


	14. Chapter 14

Sam breaks for air, noticing that the music stopped minutes ago, and looks around the dim bar. He notices the lack of Dean immediately. "Where's Dean?"

Cas frowns. "Washroom?" He re-buttons his shirt to the top two buttons and fiddles with his collar.

"Is that—is that Manannan?" Sam sweeps a hand through his hair, squinting to make out the performers; the fiddle catches his eye and he makes a note to get an up-close look at it later.

"Perhaps." Castiel tucks his shirt back into his pants, looking up at Sam’s face; but, he finds his eyes caught by the exposed bit of collarbone where Sam’s shirt was tugged down.

"We gotta find my brother." Sam starts to get to his feet.

Castiel grabs the back of Sam’s shirt. "What if we don't?"

Sam reels back like the angel punched him in the gut and sits back down heavily. "Cas, _what_?"

"Whatever's happened here is out of our hands, Sam." Cas checks his pockets and frowns. "Also, as I thought, Dean took the dragonglass shard."

"Oh." Sam slumps back in the booth. " **Wait**.” He snaps his head forward and grabs the edge of the table. “So, we just let this asshole run around loose? He's hurting people, Cas!"

"He can't really be killed, Sam." Castiel leans forward, eyes wide and dark, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

"So what, you're his no.1 fan now? You're cool with just letting him mess with us? With Dawn? Not to mention, he's done god only knows what to Dean?"

" _Sam_ —" Cas digs his fingers into Sam’s shoulder.

"No, Cas. A bit of making out like teenagers and you lose your way? **No**." Sam growls, gripping the edge of the table so hard it splinters, shrugging out from under the angel’s hand. "I am not letting this stand. And if you're not with me, you're against me. And Dean."

Cas catches Sam's eye, picks up a splinter, and slowly, deliberately, shoves it under his own fingernail while the younger Winchester looks on with a wince. " **No** ," Cas intones firmly, face set in hard lines with resolve. "I am never that."

Sam wraps a hand around Cas's and squeezes gently, rubbing his knuckles in small circles with his thumb.

"It'll be alright. Manannan is not a vicious god." Cas looks at the blood welling up underneath his fingernail with an expression that’s more curious than rueful.

Sam sighs, repressing the urge to tend to the wound. "That's what you're putting your faith in right now?"

"No. That would be you." Castiel tugs the splinter out and tucks it into his coat pocket.

Sam blushes a little and looks away. It's all he can do to not start kissing the angel and getting distracted again. "Okay."

 

 

***

Dean fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. "No signal," he mutters. "Awesome." _Guess I should be glad this thing even freaking works at this point._ He scrubs a hand down his jaw, then gets to his feet and dusts himself off.

"Hoo-frigging-ray, what a great day to be alive." Dean frowns, sniffing the air. _Something's off_. Frowning, he ducks his head and sniffs under his armpit. "I smell like freaking sushi!" _I am so gonna gank that asshole. I give zero fucks about if it's possible, I will find a damn way._

He starts walking towards the road that will take him to the gas station where Castiel first tried to talk to him. So… Pontiac. _Guess I know exactly two people around here, and neither of them will be jumping with joy to see me. OH MY GOD._ Dean’s face burns as he lopes along. _I’m going to have to look at the faces of Jimmy’s family after knowing what their husband/dad looks like with my brother’s dick up his ass. This is...aww geez, I dunno’_....Dean swallows, and breaks into a sprint.

 _I can just see it now: “Oh hey Amelia, sorry your husband’s dead but looks like he’s still wandering around. Speaking of looking, I got a real good look where the sun don’t shine. Just yesterday, in fact_ —slowing to a trudge as he wanders through a ditch, he scowls. _Forget it, I don’t need their damn help. We’ve taken enough from them already. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check up on them…._

ONE STOLEN WATER BOTTLE, PACKET OF BEEF JERKY, AND CAR LATER...

Pulling up to the Novak residence, Dean notes the place looks unkempt compared to the last time he was here. _Well, guess I’d fall apart if something supernatural took my husband, too. Not that I’m going to get married to a guy at some point— argh. The sentiment, dammit. Why is my own brain turning on me like this?!_

  
Dean grips the steering wheel and shoots another look at the porch. There’s a single light on, probably the kitchen. Despite this, he can’t shake the feeling that the place is abandoned. _What’s happened to them? Well, sitting on my ass isn’t going to get me anywhere…_ He leaves the stolen crown vic and makes his way towards the porch, with its cracked and peeling paint and pots of dead flowers. _I gotta admit, this ain’t looking good…_

  
Making his way up over the creaky step (one of which has splintered slightly along the edge) is simple enough, but of course the really nerve-wracking part comes once he’s in front of the door.

 _Here goes nothin’._ Dean raps on the door with the back of his knuckles, loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to be annoying, and waits. __Here I am, dick swinging in the breeze… ayep, it’s a good day to be Dean Winchester.__ Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Dean scowls and knocks harder. “Hello? Hello, I’m looking for Mrs. Novak?”

The door swings back abruptly, and there’s a guy with bad teeth and greasy hair squinting at Dean under the porchlight. “Not here.”

“Do you, uh, do you know where I might be able to find them? Amelia and Claire?”

“Claire’s with her grandmother. Amelia’s run off god-knows-where.”

“Thanks, pal. I’m Dean Winchester. And you are?” Dean puts his hand out to shake.

“A tenant.” The door slams in Dean’s face.

“Well, that went well. Geez.” The elder Winchester about-faces and slinks back down the stairs. _So Amelia’s run out on her kid chasing god-knows-what_ —Dean refuses to think Castiel— _and Claire’s with her grandma, so, probably safe… Cas, buddy, I guess we’ve got a lot to answer for._

Dean makes his way back to the the crown vic and laces his fingers together under his chin as he stares into the moonlight reflecting off of the dark blue car. It’s cold to the touch, and he can hear the engine faintly ticking. _How are we any different from the things we hunt? We’ve left…_ Dean swallows and tracks a cloud passing over the face of the moon— _quite a trail behind us, huh? Barely any good to show for it. Sure as shit didn’t slam closed the gates of Hell— instead Heaven’s locked up tighter than a catholic schoolgirl’s legs and the veil is all messed up, too._

Sighing, he climbs inside the car. _I’m getting really damn tired of driving in cars that aren’t my Baby. It sure would be handy if Cas still had his wings about now._ Frowning, Dean slumps forward over the wheel. _Well, here goes nothing… Castiel, can you hear me buddy? I’m okay, phone’s messed up from being zapped back to Pontiac. I’ll try and find a payphone or get a burner soon so we can really talk. Listen, bud, I’m at the Novak’s house. Jimmy’s wife is MIA, dude… his kid is probably ok because she’s at her grandma’s, but you should probably check it out for yourself, sometime. I’m not like, the king of virtue or nothin’, and shit got complicated, but you promised, pal._

Dean raises his eyes to look up at the waxing gibbous moon; it looks like an angry eye staring at him. _I’m pretty sure Amelia went to look for you, Cas. Nothing…_ Dean swallows and scrunches his eyes shut, forces himself to breathe. _Nothing good happens to people who go looking for angels. Not now._ It’s been awhile since Dean’s thought of Purgatory, but he scrunches his eyes shut and breathes hard against the memory of searching high and low for Cas there. Thank God there’d been Benny. He probably would’ve lost his mind all alone and running over Hell’s half acre if he hadn’t had a friend. The elder Winchester lets out a stuttering breath and shakes himself, then turns the engine back on and starts driving. _We really gotta look into what’s happened to Claire and Amelia once this is over._

 

 

***

Dialing Dean’s phone takes Sam to his brother’s voicemail. He leaves a message, but the small coil of dread that is slowly twisting in his intestine leaves him feeling panicked and more than a little scared. He pockets the cell and turns back to the car parked by the side of the road. They’d circled the area, but found no trace of Dean.

Cas is waiting for him inside the Impala, on the passenger seat. Sliding into the driver’s seat, Sam just feels plain wrong to be sat there as he winds down the window to let in some air. Their least favorite Irish god had disappeared pretty quickly after Dean’s sudden departure and the bar had returned to normal, the patrons unaware that they’d all been dancing along mere moments before.

“I guess from the look on your face that you were unable to reach Dean?”

Sam places his hands on the top of the steering wheel and squeezes it. “No and I already tried tracking the thing. Something’s screwing with any sig—”

Turning to face Cas, Sam frowns at the faraway look on the angel’s face. “Cas?” His eyes are glassy and not a single muscle is moving, Cas has just stopped like some kind of clockwork doll that’s just waiting for its key to be turned.

The key turns. “It’s Dean, he’s—”

CLICK.

Sam slowly turns his head and stares down the double barrel of a wicked looking sawn-off shotgun. Holding onto the gun is Dawn, still looking beat-up, but apparently making a fine recovery. _Fuck_.

“Dawn,” Sam says in a voice much calmer than he’s feeling. Cas shifts to the side of him, trying to get out, but Sam holds up a warning hand.

“Now aren’t I the lucky one. Thought I’d have to go looking everywhere for your bitch face and yet here you are, pulled up just on the wrong side of town.”

“Now listen, Dawn, w—” But Sam doesn’t get to finish as Dawn spins the gun in her hands and smashes the butt of the gun into just the wrong place on the side of Sam’s head. A gash opens.

Despite being dazed, the hunter manages to grab the butt before it retracts and pull the gun from Dawn, pushing her over in the process. Shakily getting out of the Impala, Sam sees double and a revolver.

BANG.

The hunter crumples like paper and falls against the hard ground as Castiel scrambles around the side of the car and rushes Dawn. She doesn’t stand a chance as the furious seraph barrels into her and sends her crashing to the worn asphalt. The force means that her head cracks open against the pavement and Castiel holds back the punch he was about to let fly, the shock of bright red blood trickling across faded yellow paint catching his eye. The dull lifeless look in her eyes and quickly fading pulse tell Castiel that he has already done enough.

Wet gasps escape Sam and Castiel manages to control himself enough to pick up the hunter and get Sam to apply pressure to the wound in his upper chest. Cas can see that the bullet hasn’t made it to Sam’s spine, but he is too underpowered to get it out himself.

Placing Sam in the front passenger seat, Cas abuses Baby’s gear shift as he takes Sam to the same hospital that Dawn had left. He bears no thought to the cooling corpse of Dawn as the Impala’s wheels screech and squeal. _He can survive this. He can survive this. He will survive this._


	15. Chapter 15

Cruel halogen burns Sam’s retinas as he finally pries his eyes open. The fog of anesthesia sits heavily around him, dulling his hearing, pulling his muscles back towards the bed he’s in. Eyes flicking this way and that, Sam realizes he’s in a recovery room. He can’t feel his chest and his throat—there’s a respirator tube trailing out of his mouth and instinct is now telling him to fight it, while knowledge says don’t.

Monitors start an alarmed beeping chorus, cutting through Sam’s panic and sending nurses and a doctor to his bed side. If they speak, Sam doesn’t know, because he’s still pulled too closely to the bed, weighed down. The doctor says something, then—

The respirator is removed, burning pain following it. Sam can breathe and the doctor looks down on him, puzzled at this very fact. Before consciousness had returned, Sam vaguely remembers feeling like he was tingling. _Cas… you idiot, wasting more of your grace on me. Fuck, where is he now?_

Almost as if answering Sam’s question, doors towards the foot of Sam’s bed swing open and a blurry Castiel stands inside the recovery room with what appears to be a large cup of coffee.

“I’m so glad—” Cas begins to speak, but Sam’s hearing is still on the fritz while his body regains consciousness. He can’t follow the conversation.

The staff move away from Sam’s bed, the doctor saying something to Cas and then departing.

Cas stands level with him. “Stop struggling and get some rest.” The seraph touches his forehead and Sam drifts back down below the fog.  


 

***  
 

Everything is bright all at once. First Sam’s down deep in pure nothing and then he’s looking up at the halo of light being cast on the ceiling tiles from a bedside light. Monitors beep happily along. There’s dozens of wires trailing from his body. A pen scratches along paper and Sam turns his head to the left to see Castiel sitting beside his hospital bed, clipboard with forms spread over his knees..

“Next of kin?” Cas mutters to himself. “Orangutans?” He scratches the word in. “Seems strange they would need to know this… Number?” Pen scratching against paper once again, Sam cannot see what it is that Castiel writes.

“I’ve always thought Sam was a 12,” Cas thinks out loud.

Brain catching up with the fact that Cas seems to be working on filling out insurance forms on his behalf, Sam can’t help smiling. Then the seraph's tongue slips out, Cas’s focus and concentration being brought to bear on just this piece of paper. _The angel that’s led armies and defied Heaven is sticking his tongue out while he fills in my forms_. The expression on Cas’s face is adorable and so… human, though exaggerated, like he’s learned it from watching other people, rather than having done it himself before.

“Sex? Hmmm, there’s an M and an F here and the word ‘other’... Do they mean does Sam like sex with males and/or females? And what is other?” Cas mutters.

The pen meets the paper again. “I know he enjoys sex with females, but I do not know if he does with males and other.”

Straightening up in bed—which doesn’t get Castiel’s attention and neither does the small gasp Sam makes from the pain in his chest—Sam wonders if he should stop Cas before things get too far. Watching Cas work at the form, listening to his little commentaries, it’s like meeting Cas back on that angel killing case from a few months back. Cas pretending to be an FBI agent, all eager and ready to help. Meeting Cas then, Sam couldn’t stop grinning for ten minutes, the angel had been so endearing at his play of being human.

Sat beside his bed, it is happening again. That big grin. Sam clears his throat. “Cas?”

The angel’s bright blue eyes are on Sam within a split second and that’s when Sam knows. _I love Castiel. It’s not just some stupid curse or something. I'm in love with Cas._ Sam had had butterflies in his stomach back on that case and he has butterflies in his stomach now. _I love this angel. I love this stubborn flakey sassy dauntless being that had the guts to turn his back on his whole family for us._

“Sam, you are awake. Perhaps you might help me with these forms? There are some very complex and intimate questions that they seem to be asking and I am unsure—”

“Slow down there.” Sam suddenly wonders what Cas told the staff to give him such access to Sam. “Cas… what’s our cover, here?”

Quirking his head to the side, Cas stares sincerely into Sam’s eyes. “I told them that you are my husband and that you were attacked… I have already handled the police.”

The butterflies grew stronger and the grin threatened to keep Sam’s face looking that way.

“M-my husband?”

“Yes. Did I do something wrong?”

“N-no. What happened to Dawn?”

The blue in Castiel’s eyes darkens his pupils widen. He swallows and looks away. “She died from a head wound after she shot you.”

“Oh.” Sam’s not sure what to say. He’s feeling too well ventilated to feel guilt.

 

  
***  


“Cas, it’s Dean. I had to get a new phone. What’s going on with you and Sam? Last I saw, you were necking like teenagers while I was doing the batusi.” Dean’s literally just exited the nearest cellphone kiosk he could find with a new burner phone. He’d tried Sam first but his brother hadn’t picked up.

“Sam has been shot. He’s in the hospital. Dean… he is fine. Everything is going to be fine. It was Dawn. I… she’s dead. If I text you the co-ordinates, can you dispose of her body? It—it was an accident, Dean. I was just so very… vengeful. Dean, there was blood everywhere, I believe it would be very bad if she were found. I can’t leave Sam’s side, I—”

“Say no more, Cas. I got it. Good times.” With detached calm, the elder Winchester studies his bloodied split knuckles and the smear they’d left behind on the store window he’d just punched.

“I appreciate this. I cannot bear to leave Sam’s side while he is in this state.”

Dean laps slowly at the blood and continues walking. The taste of iron is both comforting and nauseating. Once he leaves the strip mall behind, the heavens open up. “Yeah. You at Mercy?”

“Yes.” The rain is rapidly covering everything in sight.

“I’ll be right there after I take out the trash, ‘k? Don’t go anywhere.” Dean turns up his collar and water begins to seep through his neckline.

“I promise you, I won’t.” _Yeah. You’re Sam’s now. That’s what you do, wait for him to tell you what to do. Where he goes, you follow. Isn’t that right, Cas?_

“Dean—” Castiel sounds hurt and confused, and the hunter guesses Cas heard that joke of a prayer.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any subscribers late to the party, check the end of the previous chapter. I wasn't happy with that split so I added some more.  
> \--Zeryx

It’s a lonely stretch of highway that Cas has directed Dean to. He’d barely walked two feet before finding the ditch Cas had rolled Dawn into. He looks down at her slack, surprised face. _I told Sammy it would come to this. He just never wants to believe people are this shitty. Sometimes, that’s great. Other times… crap like this._

He pulls the corpse into the crown vic, on auto-pilot. _Just another asshole in the Winchester meat grinder. Dying from a lousy head wound was too good for this bitch._ A lick of anger burns up through his gut before he batters it back down under the weight of the hunter’s corpse. _She thought she was such hot shit. Well, look at you now._

After putting Dawn’s body in the backseat, he drapes a tarp over it, a blue one that blends in with the seats some. It won’t fool anyone who takes more than a casual glance at it, but Dean’s going to obey the speed limit and not take too long.

Everything secure, he slams the door shut and gets back behind the wheel. _It’s not like Cas to lose control like that. I guess he was as pissed about Sam getting shot as I am. Jesus, he’s died or nearly died in my arms so often now it’s… it’s nearly getting to be routine. Still fucking sucks._

Dean starts the car and drives to Rainbow Beach park. _I get the feeling this might backfire like Friday the 13th, but this is still the fastest way to dump a body._ Only pounding rain, the rumbling crown vic’s v6 engine, and the furious swiping of the windshield wipers accompany his travel.

When he pulls up to the parking lot, the surf lies a mere thirty feet ahead. As he exits the car and comes to the passenger side, the silence is only broken by the constant _shaaaa_ of rain and the lapping of gentle waves at the shore. He removes his jacket and throws it over the front seat, then rolls up his sleeves, near torrential rain the only accompaniment to his morbid thoughts.

He takes the bag of stones smeared with Dawn’s blood collected from the roadside and ties them to her ankles. The rain has left the beach vacant, aside from a few crying seagulls. There’s probably some cameras catching him dragging Dawn’s tarp shrouded corpse out of the car and into his arms, but he’d been declared dead again a couple years back thanks to their Leviathan doppelgangers, so he’s not too worried.

It’s a hard slog as he wades into the water with the dead Turner in a fireman’s carry over his back, but he just grits his teeth and bears it. The icy water sloshes up around his thighs, nearly making him freeze when it hits his junk. The rain pours down on his head from above. A cresting wave splashes against his chest and makes him shudder; Dean can barely see for a moment.

He blinks furiously, secures Dawn in his grip again, and keeps wading. He’s up to his chest before he takes the body off of his shoulders and lets it float, towing it by the heavy rope. _I’ve sure as shit had worse plans, but rarely more annoying ones._

He starts to kick, dragging the body farther and farther out into the depths of Lake Michigan. Swimming in jeans is no picnic, and the rain makes it a struggle to keep his sense of direction and his vision clear.

A momentary flare of panic nearly breaks through his numbness. _Sam was shot. Sam was shot and Cas was there for him and I wasn’t_. Dean is sorely tempted to strangle the corpse but he restrains himself. _Cas is there for him now, too. And here I am, the fucking trashman._

He shivers all over, and knows he has to get this over with fast before hypothermia sets in. _Gonna have to find some piece of ass to help me warm up._ Dean shakes his head, dislodging the rain in his eyes as he fights the current and the drag on the body. _Cas sure as hell won’t want to do it. Not now. Not ever. That boat has fucking sailed. I don’t regret it, but…._

Deciding he’s far enough out, Dean lets go and treads water; watches Dawn sink beneath the churning grey mirror of water, ripples chasing ripples as the rain steadily pounds down. _Cas has given up everything for_ **me** , _time and again. And for the most part, I have never given up on him._  
 _Sometimes the only things propping me up have been hating myself enough to want to fix my screw-ups, and knowing he believed in me. What do I have, now? Turns out that bond is just something to get in the way of what he really wants._  
 _Not to mention, Sam still thinks I’m barely above some types of pond-scum thanks to that whole Gadreel mess. When this is all over—and thanks Sam, for searing something I can never fucking unsee into my brain—when they’re back to normal...._

Dawn’s blonde hair is washed out grey streamers that wave above her dark head as she vanishes into the lake. _Will they decide they don’t need me anymore? It’s not like—_

Dean turns his back on the corpse and makes his way to the shore. _I’m nothing special. I’m fucking nothing at all._

He reaches knee high water and wades again. _I left first. Abaddon is walking around doing God only knows what because I left Sam alone with her. Cas spent like half a year with no one around who gave two shits about him and nearly died thanks to a fucking Reaper because I kicked him out. The dog turd cherry on this shit sundae is that I whacked off to the two people I care most about rubbing it in my face how much they don’t need me._

Dean emerges from the water, and the sand clumps up as mud all over his boots as he makes his way to the car. _I touched my best friend in the most no-no place you can touch somebody, with barely a by-your-leave, and we’ve never so much as kissed. And I… I know what my little brother’s spunk tastes like now. I wasn’t under any goddamn spell._

Unmindful of the water in the stolen car, he gets in and heads straight to the hospital, despite the sinking feeling in his gut that he’s not going to be welcome, that Sam’s not going to care if he shows his face. He needs to be sure his little brother is OK. After that… well that was for Sam and Cas to decide. _If I don’t just cut and run._

Dean turns on the car and flashes back to Sam calling him out in the library. _Yeah. Who the fuck needs a brother like me? Except… Sam got shot on **Cas’s** watch. I fucking don’t know anything about anything anymore._

Furious, Dean clutches the wheel and zones out to the rapid swishing of the windshield wipers as he makes his way to Mercy hospital.

No matter how he cranks up the heater, his teeth chatter the entire drive.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry subscribers, we realized this was a bit much all put together, sorry, they're seperate chapters now. - hit_the_books

Castiel looks up as Dean charges into the room, dripping water everywhere. He’s shivering all over, and he barely glances at Castiel as he skids to a wet halt and nearly falls over, dropping to his knees at Sam’s beside.

“Heya’ Sammy,” he says with a crooked grin, taking one of his little brother’s hands in his own.

“Dean!” Sam sits up fast, and then doubles over, coughing. He waves off his brother’s concern.

“Whoa. Easy there, tiger. Easy. Nice and easy…” Dean rubs small circles onto his back, like when Sammy used to get carsick as a child in the summer.

“Dean— Dean please, you are shivering. It is… it is very good to see you, but you must—”

Dean’s voice is low and without heat. “Shut up, Cas.”

Sam frowns. “I’ll keep, dude. We’re good. I’m just gonna be out of commission for a couple days, and Cas pushed himself too hard healing me. We’ll just lie low here for a bit. It’s _fine_. We’re fine. Honest.” He squeezes Dean’s hand and tries to smile. “The car’s at f-9. Please, go change into some dry clothes? You’re going to get sick.”

Dean’s face is pale, lips turning blue, and he’s shivering. “M’fine. I don’t matter. You’re SHOT.” The elder Winchester glares at the angel. “And YOU, you freaking let it **happen**. What kind of sick game are you playing, Cas?” Dean gets to his feet and stalks over; Castiel rises to his feet and faces him.

“Dean, what—”

“Was this just to get Sam to depend on you more? Spend more time doing your Jesus bit? Healing the sick, tending the wounded? Saving “the boy with the demon blood"?”

Sam looks on in mute shock while Castiel’s eyes blaze with fury. “That is a base allegation and unworthy—of you, of us.”

“Tell me why I should think any different? You expect me to believe you couldn’t snap out of this whenever you want? Sammy got hurt real bad, and it’s probably because you two were too fucking busy **making fucking goo-goo eyes at each-other!** ” Dean shoves Cas back and down, looming over the angel as his ass hits the seat of the chair. The memory of Cas, barechested, tied to a chair with a knife in his chest struggles to swim to the surface, and all Dean can do is stare into his eyes, shaking in rage.

Castiel shines with an ethereal glow, being lit from within by righteous fury; he snags Dean by the front of his shirt and hauls him down so they’re face-to-face. “You listen to me, Dean Winchester: In all the time I’ve known you, I have _never, ever_ , believed you were truly wrong about _anything_ , except becoming Michael's vessel. **Until now**. Know your place.” He shoves Dean away and their roles are reversed, the backs of Dean’s knees hitting the corner railing of the hospital bed before he goes sprawling.

“Cas! Cas no!” Sam cries, struggling to get out of bed.

Dean glares up at Cas, dripping water onto the floor still, shirt plastered to his skin. “You gonna finish the job? You going to finish what you started in that crypt, Cas? Or are you still family?” Unspoken, communicated through the tremors and rapid beating of his heart, is Dean’s _Am I still family?_ His pupils are dilated wide and the tilt of his head is nothing except arrogance and demand. But the set of his shoulders is vulnerable, his neck is exposed, and through the white fury that wants to consume Castiel’s vision, he can see the posturing for what it is.

“Dean—” Castiel crouches down, one hand covering the back of Dean’s neck as they gaze deeply into each-other’s eyes. Dean swallows, jaw working.

“You smite me. You smite me here and now, Cas, or I swear to Christ—”

Sam freezes, bare feet touching the ground as he manages to sit up. _Oh Dean…_

Castiel rubs a little circle on the back of Dean’s neck, smoothing over the short damp hair there. “Dean, do you not remember what I said to that child? You are the one person whom I will never smite.” Castiel smiles. “No matter how ridiculous your self-loathing nor how infuriating I may find your words.” He pecks Dean on the forehead, and Dean hugs himself, a tear slipping down the right side of his face as Sam comes around and kneels beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Sam, Cas— I. I’m dead weight, okay? I get it. Why would you want me dragging down your happy little lovefest? It’— you know. I get it. I’ve done— You don’t—” Dean swallows thickly. “Don’t need your frigging pity. I’ll be _fine_.”

Sam sighs. “Dean…”

“I have often observed that when humans say they are fine, they are not, _fine_.” Castiel’s brow wrinkles in consternation, but his face is not unkind.

“Team Free Will. Us against the world. I can’t do this without my big brother, Dean.”

Dean looks away, scrubs a hand across his face. “Yeah— I… yeah.”

Castiel snags him by the wrist. “You musn’t run away.”

Huffing a laugh, Dean just stares out the window. “Yeah, well. I’m not Shinji Ikari. But I don’t know how to make this work.” _All I’m good for is getting people killed. All Sam does is try to throw it all away in some stupid idea that it’s the right thing, like he matters so much less than everyone else when we’ve **both** literally been to Hell and back for him. And you, Cas— all you do is leave._

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll find a way.” Sam gives him one of his freaking moose hugs, and Castiel takes one of his hands.

“The three of us have always been enough. Nothing has changed.”

Dean shudders, a wave rolling through him. “You’re full of shit. Anyone ever tell you that, Cas?” The hunter turns to look at the angel.

“Yes. _You_. Repeatedly. Anyone ever tell you, you deserve to be saved?” Castiel stares right back at Dean, fond irritation quirking his lips to one side.

Blinking rapidly, Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s while Sam kneads his shoulder.

Sam’s voice is soft in Dean’s ear. “It’s going to be okay, Dean. Please, let’s get you into some dry clothes and a blanket, okay?” _I got shot, but he looks worse. How the hell do we fix this?_

“Okay,” Dean croaks, voice hoarse with swallowed sobs. Castiel helps Dean to his feet, and then they both help Sam into bed.

“Guys, I really need to rest. Cas, please, can you help Dean?” Sam’s face is pinched and a little pale, but his eyes are huge and kind, full-on liquid with compassion.

“Of course.” Castiel’s blue eyes lock with Dean’s green ones. “I can show you the way to the Impala. Unless you’d like to wear scrubs for the time being.”

Dean shudders, remembering the time Gabriel put them on Dr.Sexy and effectively ruined his nurse/doctor kink forever. “No thanks. Show me the way.”

“As you wish.” He curls his fingers into Dean’s, and he lets the ancient being guide him like a child through the corridors. Dean had flushed a little with anger, but his hand is still cold in Castiel’s. His proud head is slightly bowed, and he is watching his feet as he walks beside the angel.

“Cas, I’m sorry. About— about everything.”

“You once told me apologizing for “everything” was not good enough, and I find myself feeling that way now. Tell me what it is you’re really trying to say, Dean.” He squeezes the hunter’s hand gently. _Please, let there be a hope of emotional honesty while he is still vulnerable. The alternative — lies, glib talk, evasion, running— it is unbearable._


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry subscribers, we realized this was a bit much all put together, sorry, they're seperate chapters now. - hit_the_books

They reach the Impala, and Dean stands still while Castiel gets out his duffel bag. “Manannan, he, he said…” Dean swallows. “Cas, you deserve to be happy. You’ve done so frigging much. I think maybe you can make Sam happy, too. I just. I don’t know.” Castiel helps Dean takes off his shirt, as he seems to still be in this stunned, blank state. He puts a fresh shirt on Dean, pulling it over carefully, and then opens the back door and gently pushes him down into the back seat of the Impala.

“When will you realize you deserve to be happy, too?” Castiel undoes his jeans and Dean blinks, snapped out of his trance once Cas undoes his fly and starts sliding his jeans and boxers down his hips. The bench seat beneath his bare skin is clean and dry—familiar worn leather—unlike the back seat of the stolen crown vic. It’s free of blood and brain matter and the evidence of Castiel’s lack of control—of his lack of control when it comes to Sam.

“Cas, whoa, wait, no one said anything about a “happy ending—””

Castiel looks up at him with his 120% done face. “Cease your inappropriate remarks.” He grabs a towel out of the duffel and gently rubs down Dean’s legs before leaning forward to settle the towel around his shoulders. He’s so close to Dean, face inches away, taking care of him like no one else has done in so long, and he can’t help it anymore. He steals a kiss. It’s chaste, Cas picking up the towel and gently rubbing his hair dry. A moment later, he withdraws and Dean blurts, “I love you, man.”

“And I you.” Castiel starts sliding Dean’s pants up his legs, and Dean becomes alert, wiggling his hips and getting the jeans the rest of the way on. They share another dry brush of lips, Cas initiating this time. He pecks Dean on the forehead after withdrawing. “It’s going to be ok. I promise you.” _Please father, let this sinner know he can be saved. That he has sacrificed and it has meant the world._

“Cas… is it. Is it true. That you couldn’t...that you _can’t_ —” Dean breaks off and looks away, unwilling to keep the angel away for right now. It’s been so long since he even got a hug. The last time might’ve been that mess in the church, the night the angels fell.

“What?”

“Without the spell, you— you only want me? Even though you don’t… like… want _want_ me?”

“No. It is true my sense of obligation to you is very strong… that we share an unbreakable bond. Perhaps…” Castiel frowns, propped up over Dean. He licks his lips, and Dean mirrors him. The hunter’s eyes glaze over a little. “Perhaps if circumstances were different, things would be different. But they are not. I wish to be my own person. I wish to be with _Sam_. Perhaps Manannan’s spell helped me to realize it sooner, but it is no less true for that.” In the angel’s thoughts, lies unspoken: _As the days pass, I am beginning to wonder if that is the whole truth, however._

Dean starts to shake again. “Cas… Jesus Cas, for all the shit I gave you about following orders, I never… I never realized—”

Castiel drops the towel, and cups the side of Dean’s face. “I have said no to you, in the deepest reaches of my heart. Because I long ago realized, you would never ask and I could never consent.” Dean is staring up at him with longing, with pain, with despair and bitter guilt. It makes his vessel feel like it’s made of paper; poorly made origami crumpled into a ball by fumbling hands. _I won’t make you ask. We have to stay together. I need you by my side. By **our** side._

“You’re family,” Dean whispers, and his fingers find Castiel’s shirt and gently draw him down for another kiss. “You’re my brother.” Dean’s kisses are soft, lips slightly parted. Castiel mirrors the motion while Dean chokes back a sob. “We need you. _I_ need you.” Castiel slides down and they cling to each-other. “Take good care of Sam,” Dean whispers into the side of Castiel’s neck.

The angel nods. “You **and** Sam. Always. All of us, together.” _I **will** make you stay, Dean. Regardless of cost._ He presses his hand into Dean’s wet hair, cradling the back of his head. _This I vow_.

Dean stops shivering.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry subscribers, we realized this was a bit much all put together, sorry, they're seperate chapters now. - hit_the_books

Sam tries to lie back in bed and just rest. Exhaustion is fraying him apart now that Dean and Cas have left, but as he unwinds in the starched sheets, Sam realizes that maybe he is literally coming apart. The pain and the meds mix together with his thoughts and imagination, twisting the past twenty four hours into a lurid mass of memory that snarls as he looks upon it.

What feeling of justification he had felt that morning is now long gone and he looks back at the previous night’s events in horror. _Dean didn’t deserve that. Cas didn’t deserve that. I’ve fucked up. How can he love me if I’ve gone and pulled that kind of bullshit? What if Cas emerges from this spell and doesn’t… But he seems so sure, and I think I love Cas, but what if it’s just the spell for him?_

The seraph's absence draws this cycle of thoughts out of Sam, pulling him apart. All confidence he had felt before Dean’s reappearance now slides out of him, but he can’t help feeling a need to just have Cas there and not necessarily say anything, just hold and kiss Castiel. Hold and kiss him and… Not feel like he was the one who dragged all of them into this mess.

An uneasy breath works its way through Sam and he shivers a little. He sees Castiel again, righteous, hand raised to strike Dawn, but the bloody halo around her head screaming it was too late. What’s worse is his mind coughing up Dean for him to see; his older brother broken and shivering at his bedside. That was Sam’s mess. _Dean… I… I don’t know how to heal this_. Sam looks up at the room’s ceiling tiles and starts counting, his breathing becoming harder as he fails to suppress the sadness and regret he’s been holding back.

Sam had told Dean it was all going to be okay. That they would get through this. Move past Sam denying Dean a chance at anything with the angel he’d… _He’d what? Where do we end and the spell begin?_

Eyes falling to a wet patch on the floor, Sam could see a dirty puddle of water that had been left by Dean. Unlike the puddle that would slowly evaporate away, Sam—even with the regret that was pulling at him—couldn’t get himself to let go of how hot the previous night was. How much he’d enjoyed Cas coming undone around him and the effect they’d had on Dean. What scares him is that he doesn’t know if he’d initiate something like that again, once the spell was lifted. Even scarier: he’s not sure if he’d demand more—from both of them.

Forget whether he loves Cas or not, even with his chest wound Sam could feel himself going red in the face and needing to shift under his sheets. _Once a freak, always a freak.  
_


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry subscribers, we realized this was a bit much all put together, sorry, they're seperate chapters now. - hit_the_books

Dean is running toward Manannan in the bar, the laughing eyes of the Irish god dancing with merriment as he draws his bow across the strings of his fiddle. The sticky laminate floor under his feet turns to sand, and he’s kicking up huge clods of it as the distance widens. Manannan zooms off into the horizon, his shadow spreading across an ever-expanding Lake Michigan like an oil spill.

All the blood is pumping in Dean’s body, his muscles are burning with the effort, but he can’t narrow the gap. Manannan’s shadow seeps into the sand, and where it touches a spreading trail of obsidian is left behind in its wake until Dean skids on the shiny surface and falls onto his hands and knees. When he looks up, Cas is in front of him, Leviathan goo seeping down the sides of his face to stain his collar. His wings are smoking and charred, tattered, broken and at unnatural angles. Dean shouts his friend’s name, but no sound comes out. Castiel bends down, a dark smile twisting his lips, and cups Dean’s chin. Dean stares into his eyes, horrified but unafraid, and then Cas’s hand has slipped to the back of his head and is forcing it down. He strains for a moment but can’t look up. Slowly, inevitably, Dean’s gaze lands beneath him, and he sees Sam below him, mirroring him in the dragonglass. He puts his hand on his brother’s face, and it’s cold. Sam draws his hand somehow, connecting him through the mirror like a magnet on the underside, and his fingertip touches Castiel’s mirror image.

Dean tries again to look at the Cas before him, but his burning hot hand holding his neck (and oozing) keeps him in place. Mirror image Cas looks quietly content, and is looking at Sam, not at Dean. There is a peaceful expression there Dean can’t recall seeing since Cas showed up naked, covered in bees, on top of the Impala. The look is laced with an odd mixture of fondness and resignation, despite the fact that the angel’s face is covered in scars, wounds, and scabs. His wings are gone.

The pressure on his neck eases, and Dean looks up to find Castiel has vanished. Another silent scream (there is an unbearable weight on his chest) and Dean scrambles to his feet—his toes twitch before his foot flops off the seat of the Impala and his heel comes down hard on the back of the front seat, jarring his wounded ankle. He comes awake with a start and rubs at his eyes. _Cas?! Where the hell is Cas?_ Dean looks around frantically, eyes scanning the parking lot.

 _Oh yeah, Cas left me here to go back to Sam. We have to get out of here before they realize we can’t pay. Plus_ —he yawns and rakes a hand through his hair— _hospital rooms and warding against ancient gods? Not so much. Heck, if we’re really lucky, they haven’t kicked us out of the motel we’re at so we won’t have to redo the wards._ Dean’s stomach churns a little at the memory of what happened the last time they were there. _Forget it, can’t go losing my shit due to girly crap right now_. A spike of adrenaline courses through him and he becomes fully alert.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry subscribers, we realized this was a bit much all put together, sorry, they're seperate chapters now. - hit_the_books

Castiel has his shoulder under Sam’s armpit and they’re slowly staggering towards the Impala. Dean scratches at his ankle. _Now Cas just has to get injured and it’d be a hat trick that takes us to the play-offs. Though I guess… that borrowed grace of his counts. Wonder if he sleeps now._ The idea of Castiel, asleep and vulnerable, curled up in a blanket does something to Dean it probably shouldn’t. _Geez, enough._ He sits up and gets out of the car.

“Hey, glad you could make it. Let’s blow this pop-stand.” Dean swiftly closes the distance and is on the other side of Sam, sharing the load. Cas’s arm rests on top of his across Sam’s back as they help his little brother into the backseat of the car. “Got it all nice and toasty for ya’, Sammy.”

“Yeah, and drooly too, no doubt.” Sam’s attempt at a smirk is pretty tired and trembling at the corners, but in the shadowed interior of the car, Dean has reason to dismiss his misgivings.

“Low blow, Samantha.”

“Well, I’m sure it’d be a surprise to nobody that you give sloppy head.” Trips out of Sam’s mouth like a hockey player getting high sticked and subsequently smashing into the backboards.

Dean hits his head on the roof of the car, he straightens up so abruptly. “Sammy, what the hell!”

Castiel places a hand on Dean’s arm as the latter scowls at his brother’s feet. “Let it go, Dean. He is on some uh, I believe they are called, “fun pills”.”

“Right you are, Cas. Whatever.” Dean flicks the collar of his jacket up against imaginary wind and climbs into the driver’s seat. He leaves it to Cas to tuck Sammy into the back. _Magic spells, drugs…not having a soul, demon blood… why does it always seem like there’s some handy-dandy excuse when Sam comes out with this crap?_ Castiel slides in across from him and pats his thigh gently, before leaving his hand there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world as he starts the car. _I guess we’re not done with the touchy-feely crap for today. Gotta say I … I don’t mind like I thought I would._ Dean puts a hand over the back of the seat, touching Cas’s shoulder as he does a shoulder check before shifting into reverse and starting out of the parking lot. Both points of contact feel warm and reassuring, but on his thigh it’s, well, itchy. It’s just weird, like Cas’s hand belongs either higher or lower. _Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it. Hands-off, locked in a box with “don’t open ‘till Xmas” marked on it._ Dean glances in the rearview mirror at Sam as he digs change out of his pocket to pay the ridiculous fee to leave the hospital parking.

Sam doesn’t look quite as messed up and strung out as he did after finishing the first trial to close the gates of Hell, but it’s close. _Chest wounds suck. Lucky it was just a .22 round and that Cas had enough juice left to get him mobile._ Glancing over at the angel as he turns to leave the parking lot, Dean notes his head is drooping forward like a flower that hasn’t been watered for awhile. _Poor guy. Guess with all this and my stunt as Aquaman, no one’s got any energy left to get naughty. Thank Christ._


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey subscribers: this is all new content. Sorry for messing you around - hit_the_books

They arrive at the motel in no time at all, and find their rooms thankfully unperturbed. Soot still stains the walls and part of Dean’s pile of research is all in a hodge podge pile on the floor after the previous night’s “activities”.

Rolling his eyes, not normally so fussed about books, Dean picks up the tomes and his laptop and starts looking through something he vaguely remembers. The page blurs before him and he realises he needs to take twenty. Placing the research on the table, Dean kicks his boots off and falls down onto his bed, which smells like Cas and Sam. Face buried into the pillows, Dean lets out a resigned sigh and drifts off to sleep.

Across the room, past the half-way open door to Sam and Castiel’s room, Cas is laid out with Sam on his left. They’re still clothed. The long-limbed younger Winchester is sprawled out, an arm thrown over Cas’s chest and his legs wrapped around Cas’s left. Sam’s asleep, but Cas, despite how worn he feels from using his grace to aid Sam, cannot claim sleep. Instead he just lies there, eyes closed, aware of his surroundings while he half meditates. He can faintly hear Dean snoring from about forty feet away.

This small moment of calm is like being in the eye of a storm. Dark and embattled skies loom in the distance, ready to sweep them up once more into the maelstrom when they make their final move against Manannan. For now they are surrounded by falsely peaceful skies and Castiel dislikes how they make him want to indulge himself in Sam when things are not yet safe. Sam not even yet healed and least likely to weather a further deluge.

Short huffs of breath shoot out of Sam’s mouth and Castiel opens an eye to glance over at him. Sam’s nose presses up against Castiel’s neck and the seraph feels a slight tingle. Sleeping Sam sleepily mushes his face up against Castiel and breathily inhales his scent.

“Sam?” Castiel asks, voice low.

The question is greeted with Sam’s hand trailing up to Castiel’s face and turning his head so he faces Sam. Hot little breaths wash over Cas’s skin and then Sam presses his lips to Castiel’s. A soft moan bubbles at the back of Sam’s mouth and Cas can’t help mimicking him when Sam begins to move his lips. Castiel can’t believe how gentle the kiss is, how different it is to almost every kiss they have shared over the past day. _Is this how he kisses when he’s asleep and worn down by pain medication or how he kisses when this curse is not weighing so heavily upon him?_

A tongue slips between Castiel’s lips, but where Sam had been aggressive and confident in wakefulness this was inquisitive and unsure. Tongues fumbling and sliding over each other, Castiel jumps back a little as Sam begins to slowly grind against him and ends the kiss.

“Cas…” Sam whines sleepily pulling at his clothes under the sheets and Cas scoots closer again. Eyes fluttering open a little, Sam stares into Castiel’s. Those two hazel orbs draw Castiel close and Sam gently hooks a hand behind Castiel’s neck, pulling him back into a kiss.

Turning himself to face Sam, Castiel lets Sam draw his right leg between his thighs and then gasps the moment Sam grinds against him again. Sam’s hips move slowly, teasing out the friction he is so clearly seeking. From the other room, Cas can hear the change in Dean’s breathing. The gasp has seemingly awoken him.

Sleep keeps trying to claim Sam, but he keeps drifting at the edge and bobbing towards Castiel’s warmth and he wants to wrap himself in just Cas. Pour himself into Cas and never leave this bed, this room again unless Castiel can always remain at his side. He opens his eyes, lips brushing Castiel’s, hips moving slowly against the seraph.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I need you.” He’s not sure if Dean is awake or not, but Sam is too tired and full of ache to care. He needs to be close to Castiel, he needs to feel good. _It’d sure be nice if Dean joined, though..._

A smile like the dawn spreads across Castiel’s face. “Sam, you’re still injured.”

Sighing, Sam licks his lips. “There are other things we can do.” Fingers move from Castiel’s neck and Sam trails them over Castiel’s dress shirt and down to his slacks. Sam presses his hand against Castiel’s erection and grips it. He hears Dean’s feet hit the floor from the other room.

“Mmm… other things?” The angel’s right hand drifts down between the two of them and mimics Sam, pressing and gripping Sam’s erection. He hears Dean’s light tread on the carpet, coming near the door.  
  
Sam allows himself a little smirk. “Other... things...” he gasps, bringing their lips together again. Tasting the angel— _like honey and summer_ —and unbuttoning and unzipping Cas’s flies. Tugging at the slacks, Castiel gets the message and helps Sam to partially undress them both. About fifteen feet away, he hears his brother’s sharp intake of breath.

Cas and Sam are both hard; but, as Sam’s painkiller addled left hand tries to grasp them both, his fingers won’t co-operate. A grunt of frustration escapes Sam and then Castiel’s right hand encircles his own and their breath stutters under the intimacy of the contact. Castiel’s thumb smears their heads with pre-come and then he begins to pull Sam with him.

It’s the opposite of what they had experienced together in Dean’s room, the measured tug and slide of Castiel’s hand. In spite of this, Sam can sense the strength behind the movement that Castiel is holding back. Here the touch is tender and considered, the way Castiel directs Sam’s hand around the two of them, slowly working them up together. Placing a kiss on Castiel’s lips, Sam chances a look down between them and they look almost edible. His breath catches in his chest and he has to look back up at Cas. The door creaks faintly and they can both hear Dean struggling to keep his breathing even.

“Sam?” There’s no desperation here, just a sand timer slowly draining its grains of sand from one bulb into the other, counting down the time until Sam knows he’s going to come over Castiel and himself, in full view of his brother.

“Cas…” Sam’s breaths are getting shorter. Dean swears under his breath from the doorway.

Castiel responds by tightening their hold and it pushes their cocks closer together, their heads leaking onto each other. A gasp escapes Sam, he seizes Castiel’s mouth with his own and kisses the angel until he’s breathless. The door between their rooms clicks shut and Castiel pulls his mouth away.

“Sam, you need to breathe.” Castiel picks up their strokes a little faster and Sam watches as the angel’s eyes roll back before his own follow suit. Had it made Dean hard, seeing them together? Was Dean touching himself, thinking about what he just saw? His pinnacle of pleasure is so close, but as it looms above Sam, he can feel himself stalling, his hand grows lax and he fights to keep his eyes open. They hear the rattling of the pipes as the shower starts up in Dean’s bathroom.

Loosening his hand, Castiel lets go of him and Sam. Short little breaths puff out of Sam and Castiel ignores his own need for fulfillment and chooses to pull their clothes back up. Covering them with bed sheets, Castiel allows Sam’s tired hands to play at tugging himself against the angel. _I believe Dean got an eyeful; his pupils were very dilated, even for this darkness, and his heart was beating very loud and fast…and the look on his face_ —Castiel squints into the gloom, throbbing a little where his dick is pressed against Sam’s body— _Is he in the shower, finding release after seeing us together?_

Holding Sam to his chest, Cas’s nerves jangle, clamouring for him to go to Dean. He looks down at the mop of Sam’s hair and listens to the sound of the hunter sleeping. It’s slow and a little too shallow, but it’ll have to do. Trying not to think of his low reserves of grace, a sigh bubbles out of Cas. He feels torn in two directions. Sam shifts in his arms and presses his face into Castiel’s shoulder, snapping his focus back completely.

“Love… you…” Sam murmurs, sleep heavy in his voice.

Castiel wasn’t expecting that. “Sam?”

Short breaths are his reply. Castiel allows himself a smile and pushes his right hand up and under the back of Sam’s shirt. The seraph strokes the hunter’s skin—fingers feather-light—and rests his lips on Sam’s hair.

Kissing the top of Sam’s head, Castiel whispers, “And I love you.” He kisses Sam’s hair again. “And we’ll work on the ‘not just sex part’ once the curse is lifted.” _And maybe we’ll work on Dean, too._

Continuing to move his fingers in a soft, languid motion, Castiel is determined to shelter Sam from the coming storm; he and Dean, together, will be more than equal to the task.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a headsup, we passed the half-way mark after the scene with Cas and Dean in the hospital parking lot. _choo choo_ all aboard the Wincestiel train, motherfuckers!  
>  \--Zeryx

Fumbling with the tinfoil packet of coffee grounds, Dean rubs at his eyes and yawns. His sleep had been fitful. Just couldn’t warm up. _Hope a good ol’ cup of joe will help_. He carefully doesn’t think of Sam and Cas, all cozied up together behind the door he’d gotten up to shut in the middle of the night, when sounds he wasn’t used to hearing had woken him up. He’d done enough of that inbetween snippets of dream where he was running through the woods of Purgatory, seeing flashes of Sam’s hair and long legs or Cas’s burning blue eyes and trench coat peaking through the trees but never coming nearer; always further and further away.

He shoulders the door out of the way to get to the bathroom sink, and lets the water run cold as he grips the grimy avocado-coloured porcelain. His eyes dart up to his reflection; he looks tired and haunted, pale blue shadows under his eyes and hair sticking up in every direction despite his three am shower. _It doesn’t matter. Buck up, Winchester. Can’t let your little brother worry._

Can’t let him know it’s eating you that you beat off to catching him with his boyfriend like a perv.

Cas will probably hold his tongue and try to talk to him privately. He’d probably seen Dean when he’d paused, frozen in the doorway by the tasty sight of Sam and Cas, half-undressed, rubbing their dicks together, Cas’s hand gripping them both. Those piercing blue eyes had always seen straight through him.

 _He’d been so—so solid and warm. Maybe that stolen grace makes him kinda’ feverish—and his lips—he’s my brother, too. Has been for a long time. I don’t…. what is it between us? The idea of kissing Sam like that just feels all wrong. Oh Christ, I really am turning into a freaking girl._ Dean surreptitiously checks his junk to make sure it’s still there, unsticking his sack where it’d sweated to his leg in his sleep. His hands knife into the cold water, and he splashes it all over his face before putting his head close to the tap and running his hands through his hair. _Good enough_. He shuts the water off, towels his hair dry, hauls on some clothes and hits the lobby to get the paper.

He nods hello to the morning desk agent. “Heya Gus.” Dean yawns wide, cracking his jaw. “‘Sup?”

Gus’s bull-dog like face is in a beady squint as he frowns, and turns the paper around to show Dean. “Seems like a construction crew working at that arcade over by the point had some kind of bizarre accident. Like, a series of them. They all wound up dead.”

Scowling down at the paper, Dean leans down to read it, scans a few lines. “Hey, mind if I borrow this for a bit?”

“Sure, no problem. You guys staying another day?”

Dean picks up the paper, very carefully not crumpling it in his sweaty hands. “Yep.”

Gus buffs his fingernails on his suspenders, and the gesture is so Crowley-like Dean represses a shudder. “You look kinda tense, pal. I know a guy, knows a guy… Just say the word.”

The ink smears his fingertips as Dean smirks back. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll make due with my two buddies, Jim and Jack. Maybe invite Jose and really make it a party. Thanks, though.” He barely manages not to snarl as he stalks over to Sam and Cas’s room. Like he really needs drugs with all the acid-trip dreams and teleportation and possessed arcade machines and angry bears going around lately.

His knock on the door is loud and fast. “SAM! CAS! WAKE YOUR ASSES UP! I’M COMING IN!”

Dean zips the keycard through the slot, and pushes in, eyes greeted by rumpled-looking angel and his little brother, mostly clothed under the scratchy grey blanket provided. Sam had stolen most of the bedding at some point, and Cas is curled up around him. He feels a pang and resists the urge to pull Cas into his arms in turn. Instead, the fury pumps through him, washing him clean of sentimentality.

“Guess who’s been busy? Not you two sadsacks, the fucking ghosts!” Dean stalks over and sits on the edge of the bed; one hand steadying him on Cas’s shoulder, knee wedged to his ass as he shoves the paper into his and Sam’s faces.

“Dean? Huh… what?”

“The arcade… the people sent to fix the wall have met a gruesome end.” Cas frowns out of the corner of Dean’s eye, and he’s so close, he can feel the angel’s breath on the side of his face.

“Got it in one. Glad somebody’s on point around here. Rise and shine, Sammy! I made coffee, I’ll be right back. In the meantime… figure out this mess. Okay?”

Sam shoves the covers back and picks the paper up from where it was dropped. His eyes scan the lines quickly, Cas pressing his cheek to Sam’s while they read together. “...Where the power tools ended up… truly unfortunate.”

Sam winces. “Yeah, man. Ouch. That is… that is not a place a jackhammer should go. Um.”

“I would say the one strangled by electrical cord got off the easiest.”

“Yeah.”

Dean returns through the door connecting their rooms with the full coffee pot and his mug. He sets it beside the other two on the counter and starts pouring. “So, what’s the plan?”

“I am unsure. If we truly cannot burn the bodies, perhaps it would be wise to let Manannan do what he does best.”

Dean blinks and scratches at his jaw, before pouring cream and sugar into their respective mugs. “What’s that asshole got to do with this?”

“They are within his domain. He may escort the spirits to the river Styx before they can kill again.”

Sam nods thoughtfully, and pecks Cas on the cheek before swinging his legs off the bed and lurching over to where Dean is with the coffee. He takes the cup between his hands gratefully, with a small smile at his brother. “Thanks. So we lure him over there, convince him to do the right thing?”

“It may even be that they were stirred up initially because he had plans to escort them through the veil. Yes, I believe it’s possible.”

Dean sips his coffee slowly, pauses to blow on it before taking another sip. “Uh-huh. So we piss him off somehow and he follows us there, I guess?”

“More or less.” Sam hands Cas his own cup of coffee; their fingers touch and they exchange shy smiles.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Hey, you guys seem a lot… calmer today? Less frisky?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. But, now that you mention it… yes. I suppose.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Yeah. Well, I guess being injured helps. But, maybe we’re on the right track? Maybe we did something that made him less pissed off at us?”

“You mean like give that jagoff a good chuckle at our expense?” Cas and Dean meet each-other’s eyes and take a swallow of coffee in unison.

“I gotta say, it’s hard to imagine. We, well we killed Dawn… Maybe it’s the wards in here? Maybe they’re limiting his influence? Plus, Dean, do you still have the obsidian?”

“Yeah. It’s hanging out in my coat pocket.”

“Good. Well, listen. I know you don’t want to hear this, but me and Cas—well we had a _moment_ last night. I uh…” Sam blushes faintly. “We may have said well, we love each-other.”

Dean’s pupils go huge, and his hands shake; he nearly drops his mug. “Oh, you don’t say?” It twists bitterly in Dean’s gut that basically the same thing happened between him and Cas last night, too. Suddenly Cas’s hand is there, covering his hand over the mug; steadying him. Instead of saying anything though, he just gently takes the coffee cup from Dean’s numb fingers and sets it on the nearby dresser.

Sam watches this byplay through his lashes, standing awkwardly off to the side. His hands twitch, not sure who to reach out to. “Dean—Yeah.” He swallows and meets Cas’s gaze, then his brother’s. “Yeah. I do.”

“Oh. Bully for you. That’s—that’s great. Really, man.” Dean offers up a shaky smile. _They’re really going to leave me behind. I guess I should just enjoy the ride._

A desperate, painful urge, strikes Dean; to lunge forward, to wrap his arms around Sam and say “hands off Cas, he was mine first, I pulled him out of that fire, I get to keep him” at the same time he feels a horrible twisting in his gut that makes him want to step in front of Cas and say “hands off Sam, he pulled me out of Hell first, he was meant to, I belong to him and he belongs with me”.

Dean's eyes go wild, then blank and he backs away, spine ramrod straight as he turns on heel. “I’ll just—I’ll figure it out. I’m sure it’s me he wants.” _Unlike you two, hope you’re fucking happy together. I’m going to put that asshole to sleep and then eat a bullet, then everyone fucking wins._

Standing there, Sam stares dumbly after Dean’s retreating back. _But why should I be surprised that a proclamation of love has had this effect after… Christ, what am I doing?_ He wants to go after Dean, but he doesn’t know what to say. Not now. It’s as if no one can be happy. _Don’t tell Dean some good news to have come out of something fucked up, that was the lesson here. I made you suck a thumb covered in my come that had been in my boyfriend’s ass and then I found true love. Yeah this conversation was never going to end well._ Sam rubs at his face, tired, and sees if he can get himself dressed without pulling stitches.

Castiel walks after Dean, puts a hand on his shoulder and spins him up against the wall, right beside Dean’s hotel room door. “Dean,” he growls. “Do not do this.” _I cannot let you walk away from us again._

“Someone’s gotta take care of that bastard. You two are going to be busy riding off into the sunset.” _I left after Gadreel for a reason. I guess some part of me knew it’d come to this, even then._

The angel puts his hand over Dean’s mouth, like that day in the beautiful room. His voice is low and dangerous. Stare icy fire. “Did you not hear a _word_ we said yesterday? We do this, **together**. We stay, **together**. We belong, **together**.”

 _Maybe you and Sam freaking do. You think I want to live the rest of my shitty and undoubtedly short life as a third wheel? All I got to look forward to is a succession of assholes to put a knife in._ Dean can’t meet Castiel’s eyes, he’s looking down as his vision starts to blur, eyes burning. _You said I deserve to be happy? How am I supposed to do that, with all the room for me squeezed out? You and Sam, you’re all I have… and now you have each-other._

Castiel raises his hand, and slicks Dean’s still damp hair away from his forehead. “You really are a fool, Dean Winchester.”

Any reply he’d make is cut off by Castiel’s lips on his, and it is nothing like the platonic kisses they shared while Dean was cold and shivering the night before. It’s aggressive, grounding, forcing him into the moment, ripping the breath straight out of him as Cas pries him apart, tongue like a knife jamming open an oyster to get at its pearl. Dean gasps into the kiss, opening up, tongue tentatively touching Castiel’s own as it ravages his mouth. He clenches his hands in Cas’s shirt, as his dick floods with blood, and they’re both moaning a little, sparks along their nerves making their skin on fire.

“Cas. _Cas_ …”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean laughs, slightly hysterical, and then he’s pushing Cas away. “You don’t want this. You don’t want me. You made that perfectly clear, last night. This is—this is just because the spell has weakened or whatever.”

“I don’t care. It _hurts_ , Dean. It always hurts, seeing you so miserable. Seeing the light go out of your eyes, seeing you long to end your own life. You think I can’t tell? You think _Sam_ can’t tell?”

“Oh for—I’m just a pity fuck? Jesus. I’m—I’m not doing this.” Dean turns around to open the door, grab his coat and get the fuck out of there. Cas is on him in an instant, grabbing him tight and grinding his erection into Dean’s ass.

His voice is wrecked, even more gravely than usual. “You think this is borne of pity?” His lips trail up Dean’s neck, up to his ear. “You think you are not beautiful, and I would not give anything for you? That I haven’t already? That it’s impossible to love you?”

Dean swallows, flushed with shame, guilt, and arousal. Those emotions go about as well together as one of Sam’s stupid peanut-butter-banana-cheese sandwiches. He whispers, rigid, lips nearly touching the door. “I know it’s just because those feathery dicks got their hands in your gearbox, Cas. I know it’s your stupid programming. I know my little brother told you he’s in love with you, and he’s right there, waiting for you. I know you _chose him of your own free will_. And that’s what this is all about, right? Let me go do what I do best. Gank an evil son of a bitch.” He said it to Sam a week back, and now he’s saying it to Cas. _I’m not worth it_.

“Dean—”

“Let me go,” he whispers, hoarse with repressed tears. “I can’t be what you need. And I’m not what you _want_.”

“Cas? Dean? What’s going on?” Sam finally shows up, apparently having been getting properly dressed this whole time.

“Your brother’s being a stubborn idiot with a death wish.”

Sam snorts. “What else is new?”

“Call off _your angel_ , Sam.”

Slowly, Sam’s brain picks up on the visual cues in front of him. Sam’s standing to the side of Cas and Dean and he lowers his eyes and sees how close Castiel is to Dean. Eyes scanning upwards, he takes in the closeness of Castiel’s mouth to Dean’s ear and neck.

“Guys, what is this?”

“Cas, get off of me!” Dean tries to push back, but Castiel doesn’t stop pressing him into the door.

Sam watches Cas and finds it strange that the angel isn’t saying anything.

“Sam.” Castiel turns to look at him, but continues to keep Dean bodily pinned. He’s visibly flushed. “He’s trying to do the _thing_ , Sam.”

“What thing? Cas, are you…” Sam takes in just how flushed Castiel is and he grits his jaw, because it’s a good look for Cas. _His accessory isn’t half-bad eit— what the fuck, Sam—_ and Sam’s memory of his own thoughts, alone in the hospital, creep back to him.

“The self-hating thing. The burn us before we burn him thing. That thing.” Castiel glares down at Dean, who barely meets his gaze before looking down and clenching his fists.

“Screw you and your pity. Frigging take a hint and let the fuck **go** already!”

Nodding, more to clear his own head then to agree, Sam takes a step closer to Dean and Cas. “Right, okay—wait, not okay, but why are you… Cas, why do you look like you’re grinding against my brother?” Sam feels his temperature rising, wondering if this was how Dean felt last night.

“Dean is incredibly stubborn. At times, this is the only language he understands. When his ears are closed to all else…” Castiel bites gently at the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean hisses, shuddering.

“N-no. Do not want. F-fuck… holy inappropriate much.”

The firmness of Castiel’s stance makes it obvious to Sam that he’s not pulling that angel away without tearing things open. Still, Dean looks kind of nice pinned like that and curiosity makes Sam reach out a hand and gently touch the side of Dean’s cheek.

Dean flinches. “The hell?” _Why is this happening._ Dean’s brain is shutting down, and his heartbeat is fluttering in his throat. _Am I seriously about to get spit-roasted by my brother and his boyfriend? Where is this going? What. What…_ his brain gets stuck like an old tape spinning around the reel. He’s starting to hyperventilate.

A voice rises up in a part of Sam’s brain that might be still capable of rational thought. _Sam, Dean’s panicking here. Stop the face stroking and get your boyfriend off of him._

“Cas,” Sam pulls his hand back a little, “l-let Dean go.”

“I’m not gay you f-freaks. Geez.” _Even if I was, getting my brother involved? I just. What._ Despite himself, he leans very slightly into the gentle touch of Sam’s huge hand, unable to resist his starvation for touch.

Castiel releases Dean most of the way, but keeps a hand on his shoulder. “No one said you were, Dean.”

“Christ Dean, that’s what comes to mind here, really?” Sam quirks an eyebrow, bitch-face maybe at 50%.

Dean’s eyes do that thing where they dart everywhere. “No. Just… Whatever.” Dean shrugs out from under Cas’s hand and grabs his jacket.

Unsure why he took those few steps, Sam’s standing in front of Dean. Sam doesn’t want to let Dean go, but there’s two different reasons as to why he doesn’t. Hazel eyes settling on Dean, Sam’s lips part a little and the rational part of him is screaming that the curse is taking advantage and that he needs to get out of this, but he can’t stop himself.

Sam steps closer and wraps his arms around Dean. The grip isn’t tight, because Sam hasn’t got the strength to hold Dean in his arms right now. Sam shudders, from the part telling him to stop and the part that’s enjoying being close to Dean.

Dean freezes, unwilling to shove at Sam due to his injuries. “Not you too, Sam. Goddamn spell. The sooner we put ol’ paddy to sleep the better.” He pats at Sam’s hair and sighs. Castiel advances, sliding a hand up the base of Dean’s skull to cup it.

“Perhaps. What is it you like to say, Dean? The only way out is through?” Castiel catches Sam’s eyes, a small grin twitching the corner of his mouth.

“You mean… no. **No**. What part of _this is wrong_ do you not understand?” Dean scowls, red-faced and looking anywhere but at the two of them. _What part of I don’t want to bang my brother or ruin the one friendship I’ve got left do you not understand?_

Vocal cords taut as he wars with himself to not follow through with Castiel's prompting, Sam makes no sound as he places his lips softly on Dean’s. Then the not so rational, but-how-much-of-this-is-the-curse-really part of him makes his vocal cords relax and he lets out a tiny moan. The only part of Sam that can think at all ponders how Dean manages to keep his lips so soft. “You are my property. My birthright. Shut up and take it.”

Shocked into silence, Dean’s lips become slack. Castiel strokes his hair encouragingly. Sam presses in, dauntless, sliding a hand up under Dean’s shirt, a slow stroke over his ribs that’s nearly ticklish before curving down under his jeans to wrap around the curve of his hip. Despite himself, Dean makes an undignified sound as Castiel leans in, in a pincer movement, cupping his other hip from behind and slowly trailing his mouth from ear to shoulder in a slow slide.

 _So. I’ve already been to Hell. I'm not sure if this is better or worse because it's the people I love most doing this to me. I don’t know why I’m so worried. Why I was so worried. I don’t—_ Dean’s eyes slide shut and his resistance starts to crumble. _Everything else in my life is fucked. Why not this? They can have their fun and then—then they’ll see—_ Dean growls and starts kissing Sam back with fervor, biting at his lips and sucking at his tongue. _I was going to lose them anyway. Might as well consider this a going away present._

Lips moving with Dean’s, Sam can’t help himself as he reciprocates Dean’s kisses. Had Sam wanted to do this? He didn’t know now, but each pull and tug of Dean’s mouth on Sam’s awoke long hidden thoughts that Sam had kept buried and blood crept into his cheeks. Finding it hard to breathe, Sam pushes Dean away a little so he can pant and catch his breath. Sam’s eyes catch Deans and they lock. Out of his peripheral vision, Sam spots Cas lean in to the left of Dean and kiss his brother’s neck.

It was a challenge. Sam feels like he’s drowning. The whirring of his thoughts is interrupted by Dean twisting in his arms and glaring at Castiel.

“You wanted this? Come get it.” Dean reaches up and pulls Castiel down, kissing him just as aggressively as he’d been kissing Sam. In mere moments Dean is fucking his tongue into the angel’s mouth while Sam looks on with his mouth fallen open. Dean moans into the kiss and Castiel responds, groaning low in his throat.

“Dean…” Sam’s heart twists at hearing his boyfriend call his brother’s name like that, and Dean is walking Cas into the bed; the angel’s knees hit the back and Sam trails in their wake, helpless as Dean crawls on top of Cas, pinning his hands up over his head.

“This is how you like it, huh Cas? Sam made real sure to show me… you both did.”

“Dean… _shut up_.” Cas drags Dean back down and they make out for another beat before Castiel flips him over, pinning him again. The reversal tears a thin thready whine out of Dean, his hips bucking up into Cas’s. Sam blinks, realizing his dick is in his hand and he’s been playing with himself for awhile. _When did I start doing that?_

Sam strips off his clothes, leaving himself in just his boxer-briefs. “Cas.”

Castiel glares down at Dean, flushed, noses nearly touching. “Yes?”

“His clothes. Take them _off_ , Cas. He’s not going to need them.”

“I’m right here, asshole.”

“Shut up. You are not to speak unless spoken to.”

Dean’s pupils visibly dilate and his eyes darken to river-bottom green.

“Of course.” Castiel backs off and starts stripping Dean of his clothing. Seeing Dean stripped of the million layers he usually wears is way more arousing than it has any right to be. Seeing Cas’s beautiful, sure hands methodically peeling them back is even better.

“Move.” Sam gestures impatiently, and Castiel moves aside. “Sit.” At his gesture, Castiel sits next to Dean on the bed, eyes midnight dark as he appraises both of the brothers. His pants are visibly tight with his arousal. “Pin his arms, I’ll get his thighs.”

Dean bolts up, and Cas restrains him again, putting Dean’s head in his lap. Before he can allow himself to think about it, Sam’s on his knees and taking his big brother’s heavy cock in his mouth; Dean gasps and trembles. Shuts his eyes tightly, and a tear leaks out of one corner. He twists, thighs tensing under Sam’s hands, but he can’t move.

Castiel has both of his hands in one wrist, and is slowly rubbing his thumb around Dean’s lips in a circle with the other. Sam is on fire, savouring the musky, clean, coconut-edged scent as he works Dean over with his mouth. He knew what Dean had been doing in the shower last night. In the small hours, when Sam and Cas had been rubbing against each-other and moaning.

Watching Sam’s head bob up and down on Dean, Castiel is adamant that they’re doing the right thing. That this will help Dean stay. That he’ll realize that he’s wanted and needed. A brief thought about the curse flitters across his vast consciousness, but he pays it no heed and instead closely watches Sam for a moment longer before bending down to Dean.

“You should watch, Dean, he looks so good, the way he is just eating you up.”

“N-no…” Dean squirms. Castiel cups the side of his face and gently strokes a thumb down his jaw, stubble a satisfying rasp beneath the nail bed.

“Yes.”

“Cas…” Dean whispers.

Sam increases his efforts, swirling his tongue along the head of his brother’s dick and withdrawing slowly, only to plunge back down to the root and swallow around him before repeating the process.

Dean’s eyes pop open. “Ch-Christ Sammy, where did you learn that?” His eyes meet Sam’s, and something inside him visibly breaks.

Sam withdraws, speaking between little licks, flat broad strokes of tongue across Dean’s slit. “I watched your porn. You left it all over my laptop. Almost like you were trying to send me a message…” Sam smirks.

Dean licks his lips and looks away again. “Cas… come on man, can’t you see this is wrong?”

“I see nothing but beauty before me, and all I’ve ever desired.” The angel circles Dean’s lips again, before pushing his thumb in. “Suck.” The pad of Cas’s thumb is slightly rough against his tongue, and he does as he’s told. It’s surely a deliberate reminder of when Sam made him eat his come. He moans quietly around his friend’s thumb as the angel strokes his hair. _It feels so fucking good. I can’t believe that’s Sam down there._

Dean cracks an eye open and again is assailed by the sight of his brother’s mouth wrapped around his dick, other arm jerking with a rhythm that very clearly indicates he’s jacking himself off. His breath and heart-beat both stutter in his chest, and Sam isn’t looking at Dean’s face—his eyes seem to be locked above, with Castiel’s. His heart feels like it’s trying to beat out of his chest as his gut churns. _Even now… am I really here to them? Is this just the spell?_

The rest of Castiel’s fingers are curved around Dean’s jaw, palm cupping his chin. Dean presses into the touch, slowly swirling his tongue around the tip. _What the hell do I do? I don’t have a lot of choice, here_ —

“You see, Dean?” Dean looks up and is caught by Castiel's stare. “You see how gorgeous Sam is, how full of want of you?” Dean’s eyes flick over to Sam, who, yeah, is giving him this look like he needs to suck his dick like he needs air, and he groans, blood on fire as his brother’s mouth works him over, left-hand a vise grip around Dean’s shaft. Cas’s low voice is relentless. “Give us what we need. Let us give you what _you need_.”

Dean swallows thickly, and Cas shifts behind him before withdrawing his thumb from Dean’s mouth. “Cas…” Dean’s jaw works, and the angel trails his thumbnail down the carotid, over where his pulse jumps out from the side of his neck. He can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of his little brother pleasuring him, so he shuts his eyes. “You’re wearing too damn many clothes.” _Cas is right. There’s no stopping the express train downstairs now. I… I don’t think I even want to anymore._

“Sam?” He and Cas exchange a look, and Sam pulls off of Dean while Castiel slides his head from out of his lap. His hands cradle Dean’s head as he lowers him to the mattress, and then Sam is on top of Dean, settling so their dicks are lined up against each-other. It seems to take a very long time as Sam leans forward, until his brother’s huge liquid brown eyes seem to fill the entirety of Dean’s sight. Dean takes in a shaky breath, and his heart is beating so loud and so fast he can barely hear the rustling of Cas taking off his clothes.

Sam gives him a little smile, and it’s almost shy as he bumps their noses together. _We’re “eskimo brothers” now, in all meanings of the word_ , Dean thinks with mild hysteria closing his throat. He blinks rapidly as Sam backs up and adjusts course, his lips a firm, slow press that give no quarter. Not aggressive, not hurried; just without hesitation or yield.

He can feel the hot, solid line of Sam’s dick sliding slowly against his own as his brother slowly writhes against him. Sam is there, _there_ in a way he hasn’t been for a long time. There without the power and will of another being lurking directly under his skin—sort of. It’s not angel possession, but Dean has no real way to know how much of what’s happening is what Sam really wants, either.

Sam’s tongue steals into Dean’s mouth, blatantly declaring ownership, his fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders. Unable to help himself, Dean moans and grinds up. Dimly, part of his brain notes Cas nearby, sees the tanned column of his thigh out of the corner of his eye.

“My, what a picture the two of you paint…” Cas’s tone is darkly amused, and he slides a hand into Sam’s hair, getting a good grip and tugging back. Sam freaking whimpers, his mouth leaving Dean’s. Sam comes to a crouch and Dean follows, sitting up; Cas’s other hand braces his back. “You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you, Sam?”

“I… I don’t. Not like, _always_ , always. I want you to _stay_ , Dean. With us. Please.”

Dean’s brain has shut down entirely. “ _Shut up_.” He reaches for Sam then, mashing their mouths together, one hand reaching out for Castiel. Cas as usual, reads him without a word being needed, and presses his hard dick into Dean’s hand. The silkiness of it on his palm makes him gasp into Sam’s mouth, and he relishes the slide of his hand along its length for a few moments before tugging gently.

Cas complies with the non-verbal prompt. “Very good, Dean.”

Dean groans, and then he and Sam are kissing around Cas’s dick, making out around it, swirling their tongues around each-other and the leaking head, competing to see who can force more drops of pre-come out. Castiel swears, and he can feel Sam’s matching shudder through his skin. “My knees—I can’t—”

“Come here, Castiel.” Sam shifts and orders them around, and soon Dean is unashamedly fucking into Cas’s throat while he narrowly avoids getting his nose smashed in by Sam’s pubic bone. _I thought this would feel weirder. I guess I thought a lot of things I had no business thinking._ Cas’s hands are very warm where they cup his ass, holding him apart, vulnerable, while Dean snaps his hips and shoves into the wet heat of his mouth over and over again. He tries to hold off, he really does— _I gotta make this good, it’s the first and last time_ —but little tastes of Sam are coming through, little dribbles as his brother leaks into his mouth, and it’s driving him crazy.

 _I wish I could see Cas. I wish I could touch Cas. I mean, with something other than my dick._ Dean’s fingers are laced under his neck as support, elbows digging into the mattress and he can’t really move; he’s trapped by Sam’s hands on his head and Cas’s hands on his ass. Dean’s eyes water as Sam hits the back of his throat, and he pretends that’s all it is. He tries to breathe and the noisy inhale is not a sob. The pleasure he’s feeling has become so much white noise, and inside his head is a roar of static. His eyes are wet. He’s not sure when it happened. Dean starts to struggle, one hand clasping Sam’s beside his temple. “N-no,” he wheezes out.


	24. Chapter 24

Sam draws his hair out of his eyes and looks, really looks, at Dean. “Hey, you alright down there?” He withdraws from Dean’s mouth and strokes the side of his face.

“No.” Castiel looks up at him, eyes huge, and Dean feels a pang in his heart; he hadn’t been able to see the angel at all, with his head tilted backward as he lied on his back. Silently, Castiel withdraws also and scrambles up the bed to engulf Dean in an embrace far too hard and desperate to be called a hug.

“Cas,” Dean whimpers. “Cas, I—” Dean kisses the side of the angel’s face and pants quietly, choking down sobs that want to become audible. His chest heaves, heart drumming erratically, and then Sam is there, fitting snugly into Dean from behind. _I fucked up. Couldn’t keep a lid on my girly-ass feelings and now I’ve ruined the fun for everybody. Way to go, Winchester._

“Shhh.” Cas rocks him gently, lips pressed to Dean’s temple while Sam just holds on tight.

“Dean… listen. I. I know things got… out of hand—”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbles miserably. “Spell, blah blah blah… _Fuck Sam_ , how could you even really think you were saying yes! I sure as Hell wasn’t…”

Sam turns frosty. “Oh, it sure seemed like you were for a minute, there.”

He can’t repress this one; the sob rips right out of Dean’s chest, up his throat, leaving his quivering lips. He buries his face in the side of Castiel’s neck, trying to muffle any further noises as he shakes.

Castiel’s eyes go huge. _Did we really just—...and I started this._ The weight sits heavy in his vessel’s gut; guilt making him clutch Dean even tighter. Dean goes completely mute for awhile; all the things that had happened in the past half hour robbing him of speech.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Okay?” Sam drops a kiss on the base of Dean’s skull, hand wormed between his and Cas’s bodies to be a grounding ley-line around Dean’s waist.

Dean's only reply is a loaded, heavy silence. He raises his head, and after a minor amount of negotiation, kisses Castiel slowly and tenderly. _I failed. Even at this, which I’m supposed to be good at, I failed. I let them down, both of them down, **again**._ Castiel kisses him back, trying to pour the tenderness he’s felt for years, bottled up for Dean into it. It’s a goodbye. Or it would be, if Cas was willing to let it be.

Castiel is grim-faced; corners of his mouth turned completely down, face drawn tight. “We must remove the spell. It is paramount. I am… terribly sorry, Dean.”

“I thought… well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I’m sorry, too.” Sam murmurs, ashen-faced.

“You keep saying that like it actually fucking means somethin’. It wasn’t you. I get it. Whatever. I just… the rest of me needs to catch up to in here, mm'kay?” Dean taps at his temple. _God help me, well if you weren’t such a dick you would—I wasn’t under a spell. It was all me. And the things I did to Sam—that I let him do to me—_ “Excuse me, fellas.” Dean scrambles out from their dual embrace.

“Dean—” Cas stares up from the bed as he leaves.

“Dean!” Sam jumps up as Dean rushes to the bathroom.

But he’s already on his knees in front of the toilet, puking up what might’ve been coffee once and bile. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and rubs circles while Cas offers him a glass of water. Dean drinks the water, swishes it mechanically and spits, then hits the flush. “M’good. Just, gimme a minute, OK?”

“Dean—”

“Back off! Scram, dudes. I mean it. Guy needs his alone time to do the necessaries.”

Castiel shoots him a worried look before handing him a towel. He puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder and escorts him out of the bathroom.

There must have been a moment when Castiel picked up their clothes and then dragged Sam and himself back across to their room while naked, but Sam can’t recall it. Instead he’s standing in the middle of the room, undressed, chest hurting and his brain trying to catch up with what he’d just been a part of. There’s a blackness to the edge of Sam’s vision, little dots of black, and then he’s falling.

Sure, strong arms meet Sam’s shoulders and he’s eased down onto the bed. Blinking a few times, Sam looks up to find Castiel’s worried blue eyes staring down at him.

“It seems you have over exerted yourself,” Castiel states.

Sam’s breaths come short and fast as he tries to battle with the increasing pain in this chest. The spot where he was shot feels like it’s had a hot poker shoved in and twisted around inside, but there’s a duller ache further down his chest. He shouldn’t have been leaning on his arms so much when he was— _What have we done? Dean wants to blame it on Manannan’s curse, but_ —

“You need to rest, Sam. Are you in pain?”

A small nod from Sam sends Cas looking for some of his happy pills and the seraph quickly returns with them and a glass of water. Taking the pills from Cas’s outstretched hand, Sam promptly swallows them down with the water and gives the empty glass back

Falling back against the pillows, Sam shivers and Cas pulls the covers back over him. _What did I do? I just wanted to stay together. I didn't want Dean to go. Why did I kiss him? Why..._

“Cas?”  _Why did I enjoy it? Why did I enjoy all of it?_

The angel sits down beside Sam. Cas’s pose is tense, shoulders stiff and neck ramrod straight. “Yes, Sam?”

“How… how much of this is the curse?”

No answer readily comes to Castiel’s lips.

“Cas?”

“I am unsure.”

Cheeks dimpling, Sam tries to figure it out for himself. _The really trippy part of this whole mess is how not turned off I was by it. I was uh... I was really damn turned on, actually. Apart from when, when Dean—_ Sam can't let himself think cried— _had really wanted to stop, well, everything that happened right up until then—_ when Sam thinks of it, he feels his face beginning to flush. _I crossed the line and liked it. At least right now. Right now and still cursed, or enchanted or whatever._

But Dean?

Their reflections in the shard of obsidian swim before Sam, his eyelids beginning to droop as the pills kick in. Sam could see him and Cas both looking like they were underwater and Dean looking normal.

“Dean’s… not…” Sam’s eyes close.

“Cursed,” Castiel murmurs, finishing Sam’s train of thought.

The seraph gets up from the bed and quickly dresses himself. Castiel has decided that if he is to have a chance of halting any further damage to the Winchesters… _and my own aching heart_ , that he needs to act now.

Creeping into Dean’s room, Cas expects the shower to be going, but the silence that greets his ears is not what he expected. A quick scan of the room tells him Dean has already left and taken his jacket. Cas heads into the bathroom and finds the window open a little. The righteous man had disappeared to tackle Manannan alone and Castiel feels a small wave of panic engulf him.

It had been Pontiac last time, but what would the old Irish god do to Dean now? And how would they leverage him to remove the curse? They couldn’t just risk his temporary demise as a means to cure it.

There’s a bag missing and Cas wonders what manner of tools Dean has taken to handle the psychopomp. Very little he had seen in the lore had indicated that much could deal with it, bar the dragonglass they had already acquired. The newspaper article about the deaths at the arcade stares up from a table covered in research notes.

Finding a notepad in Dean’s room, Cas hastily scribbles a note to Sam and then places it on the bedside table in their room. Castiel’s instincts are telling him not to leave Sam alone in this state, and he casts a long look over his shoulder at the sleeping man. Cas hopes that the sigils mean that he only needs to worry about sea mist coming into the room unexpected.

Glancing at Sam’s slightly parted pink lips, Castiel closes his eyes as he recalls Dean and Sam making out around his leaking cock. Swallowing deeply, Cas blinks his eyes and tries to focus. Regaining a degree of composure, Castiel heads for the door and leaves. He runs the short distance to the arcade.

Castiel prays he is not too late.


	25. Chapter 25

Fresh blood splatter decorates the tiles. There’s the slightest hint of excrement in the air, which considering what happened with the jackhammer makes too much damn sense. It’s not like the arcade had been built on happiness, like their research had found. But it was hard to imagine any children or teenagers having fun in a place that now stunk of death and had holes in its walls that, if Dean squinted a tiny bit, looked a little like gaping wounds.

 _I’m gonna sort this crap out like I should have done back at the damn bar._ Dean pulls out a bottle of cider and uncaps it, leaving it by a dry puddle of blood.

“Let’s have a nice friendly chat, _you son of a bitch!_ ”

Mist floods the arcade, and the slow sawing of a fiddle comes from a distance. Dean manfully resists the urge to roll his eyes. The theatrics are straight out of a late-night cable 80s horror movie. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re here. Come on out, already.” Obsidian shard’s edges biting into his hand, Dean waits, eyes scanning the dim, misty confines of the arcade.

“You really have no appreciation for the classics, do you, my lad?” Comes from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“For such an old dude, you sure like to waste time asking questions you already know the answer to.” Dean turns slowly, trying to get a read on where the voice came from.

A deep chuckle booms, bouncing off the brick walls. “You amuse me, Mr. Winchester. You, your pathetic joke of an angel, and your long-suffering needy little brother.”

“That’s us,” Dean snorts. “Keepin’ the laughs comin’ since 2008.” An outline starts to materialize through the mist, and Dean tenses. He slowly moves towards it, only for it to lighten again. He scowls and resumes scanning. The lights from the various arcade cabinets glow eerily through the fog like glitched fireflies. The fiddle increases in pace, going from strings like in a horror film to a plodding dirge.

“In all my years, I have rarely seen a savior so determined to hate themselves.”

“Yeah, well. Keeps me sharp. Dontcha' think I got a swelled enough head as it is?”

Another laugh, it seems more like it’s coming from the right, somewhere… “Your _grand cosmic importance?_ Please… your role is finished.”

A shriek comes from Dean’s left, and he spins around just in time for claws to rake his shoulder. He yelps and claps his hand to the wound, seeing the brightly coloured plumage of Manannan’s familiar disappear into the darkness. “What the _hell_ was that?”

Dean can hear Manannan’s grin. “A feathered friend. Something you’d do well to keep close.” The violin’s pitch goes high and low, disturbingly discordant. Dean feels off-balance with the syncopation and sweat beads his forehead.

“What do you freaking want from me? M-my… my brother, he….and my best friend. Stuff happened. Naughty stuff. **Stuff that was totally your fault!** Remove that fucking spell, or I swear to **God—**!”

“Please, Dean. You and I both know you don’t really believe in God.”

“I know he’s around. _I know he could kick your ass!_ You know uh, if he could um, be bothered. Uhh…” Dean coughs and squints, hearing the rustling of feathers nearby.

“Don’t talk to my master that way, you little moron!” Comes a shrill voice from behind Dean. “You should be grateful he’s looking your way at all, when you’re not fit to wipe his bum.”

“Chatty. The two of you are just so into hearing yourselves talk. I bet you could have yourselves a podcast; get a nice little following on Youtube.”

“Is that not why you came here? You said to chat.”

Dean has come in a loose circle, and he notices the cider he placed on the floor is gone. “I know it was you that stirred up those rum-runner, mafia type ghosts. Can you do that thing you do? You know, the _actual useful thing_ , and put those poor s.o.b.’s to rest before anyone else gets—” Dean waves his hands at the blood-spattered walls—”you know. Deader than dead.” 

The wounds the archaeopteryx’s claws left behind have welled up, blood is soaking Dean’s shirt in earnest.

A pregnant pause weighs in the misty air, and the old deity hums thoughtfully. “Yes, I certainly can, and will. But first, you and I have some business to attend.”

What sounds like a slowed down, acid-trip version of “Are you sleeping, brother John/ Frere Jacques?” (that Dean only knows ‘cause he took a few highschool french classes to impress chicks) plays from the fiddle. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck and arms stand on end. Slowly, he finds his feet moving in a halting waltz, as he continues to scan the room for anything he can stab. The dragonglass in his fist parodies a partner’s clasped hand as he dances alone.

“Not much fun is it, dancing with yourself?”

“Oh, I dunno’... if I had the chance, I’d ask one to dance… but there’s no one else in sight, in the crowded lonely night.” Dean smirks, trying to pretend he’s not completely freaking out right now, as his body moves without him telling it to _again_.

“Oh, a request? Well, then… too bad, I like this one better.” A beautiful, albeit it slow version of “Eyes Without a Face/Les Yeux sans Visage” is picked out in strains of the fiddle, and air escapes Dean’s lungs like a balloon someone just stopped pinching shut. 

Tears prickle at his eyes. How often had he played that song on loop in his head, over and over as Cas hadn’t answered his prayers, that year in Purgatory? When he got back top-side, he’d rooted through the box of tapes in the Impala until he’d found his copy of “Rebel Yell.” He’d kept it in his pocket, meaning to put it in the tape deck. 

The day they passed Cas outside of Twin Pines, he’d snapped the top off and yanked the tape straight out of the cassette in fury before tossing it out the window. The lyrics play in his head, right on cue. _I spend so much time... believing all the lies, to keep the dream alive. Now, it makes me sad; it makes me mad at truth. For loving what was you…_

“You’re a fucking shitty fiddler!” Dean breaks out of the music’s hold and runs forward. He twirls the obsidian shard in his hand; its surface does not reflect the mist, but it’s so dim between the poor lighting and the black surface he can barely see anything. Dean hears an indignant squawk and he spins, seeing the archaeopteryx familiar’s feathers reflecting like neon in the polished surface, and dodges out of the way. 

The song continues, making the occasional snatch of lyric float across Dean’s inner ear. _Got no human grace…_ Dean flattens his back to the wall, tries to fight the dance. “What do you _want_?” He grinds out, jaw clenched.

“Ah, but what do _you_ want? Tell me, Dean.”

Lyrics float across Dean’s consciousness, the memory of Billy Idol’s voice, snarling but wistful, a complete contradiction: _I'm thinkin' of you, and you're out there so... Say your prayers._ “Cas. God help me, I want Cas. And I don’t even care if that means him and Sam are a package deal.” _Say your prayers._ “It might… it might even make it better.” _Say your prayers._

Dean clutches the shard so tightly it cuts into his hand, making him gasp. _It’s the fiddle. He’s got to be pointing it at me to— to make me say this crap straight out of a “Savage Love” column._ Dean mentally veers around the idea that it’s the complete truth being pulled out of him. _He’s got to be facing me in a straight line! All I gotta do is run for it!_ Dean’s head snaps up and he charges forward, slashing wildly through the mist.

Nothing happens except he runs smack into the Joust cabinet and nearly cracks his head on its monitor. “Son of a _bitch!_ ”

Snickering comes from all around him, accompanied by a shrill cackle. “Ah, ah ah… is that the **whole truth** , Dean?” Manannan switches back to “Frere Jacques”.

“What do you want me to say? That I’m a sick fuck who has no problem letting his little brother do whatever he wants, because I can’t say no? That I don’t _like_ saying no to Sam? That it fucking hurts? That I’d give him whatever he needed, no matter how damn _wrong_ it was—” Dean’s voice cracks as he thinks of Gadreel, and of Sam’s wide mouth under his own—“same as I always fucking have? 

"That I’d sooner tear off my own right goddamn arm then admit it gets me hot when he bosses me and Cas around?” Dean’s voice is rising in pitch, and he’s starting to get out of breath, as he realizes he’s been dancing faster and faster, the sped-up tempo making the innocent lullaby nightmarish.

The doors burst open, daylight piercing the mist; Cas’s familiar silhouette is limned by the fierce light of high noon, gilt around the edges. “ _Dean!_ ”

“ _Cas!_ Don’t come close! He’s, he’s got this fiddle— the fiddle is the freaking sword!”

“Ah, right on cue! How merry!” Manannan’s directionless laugh echoes.

Cas stalks forward anyway, face smooth with focused attention as the mist swirls around him. “I have nothing to fear from the truth,” he states, eyes flashing. Dean feels a sharp pain in his chest that rivals his messed up shoulder at the sight of his angel, protective and predatory.

The rusty tang of freshly spilled blood reaches Castiel’s nostrils and his head snaps to Dean, eyes going wide with worry at the sight of Dean’s injuries. Ignoring Manannan’s taunting voice and the flicker of fiddle that was tempting his vessel to dance, Castiel strides over to Dean and clasps a hand to his shoulder. A tiny squeeze of grace and the worst of the damage is undone.

“Cas-”

“Come now, Manannan! Stop these foolish games of yours. Face us! Or are you just these parlor tricks?” Castiel waves a hand through the mist, wafting it around. The weight of his angel blade slips comfortably into his right hand.

“How dare you!” cries a shrill voice.

A rustle of feathers issues from behind Castiel’s left. Dean grabs at Castiel trying to make him duck, but the angel shrugs Dean off as Manannan’s feathered friend streaks towards him. The angel blade wickedly curls through the air and Castiel slashes at the creature, blade cutting soft flesh. Colourful silky feathers fill his vision and are gone.

The cry from the creature fills the depths of Castiel’s existence, pummeling at him from all planes. Blood drips from the tip of his angel blade. The fiddle tune falters, but then picks up again, pulling at his feet.

“What the hell is that thing?” Dean puts his back to Cas’s, keeping an eye on his six.

“Manannan has a familiar. It is what humans call an Archaeopteryx, it is a type of flying dinosaur.”

Dean gives a terse chuckle. “Thank you. Trust you to know that. You and Sam are walking, talking encyclopedias.”

Castiel nods and then shouts, “Manannan, your wretched little friend is of no use here. Face us!”

Pitch and tempo spiraling upwards, the fiddle’s tune presses in on Castiel. Whatever the strings are contorting into sound, Castiel is uncertain, but he feels the music grabbing at him and trying to contort his body so that he faces Dean rather than having him at his back.

“You are so rude and demanding for an angel of heaven, dear, dear Castiel. So rude.”

“And you are a poor host. Face us!”

Thick plumes of mist rise up from the floor, obscuring all around. Castiel reaches his left hand behind him and grips the front of Dean’s right hip keeping them close together as they remain back-to-back.

Castiel twists his head towards Dean’s ear. “We stay together, no matter what.”

An almost too long pause drags out. Castiel feels the drawn out breath Dean lets out before he replies. “Together... no matter what.”

The fiddle stops. Manannan steps out of a patch of deep mist and stands in front of Castiel.

“Never let it be said that I am a poor host,” rumbles the old Irish god. Manannan snaps his fingers and the mist clears. Dean and Castiel are jerked into seats beside a small table that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a 1920s speak easy. There’s a little lamp on top and two tall glasses filled with rum based cocktails.

Manannan places the fiddle between the crook of his shoulder and neck, tightening a few strings. Now that Castiel can study the figure, he sees nothing intimidating, but that was always the problem with the old gods. A brief look passes between them and Castiel sees a malicious sneer upon Manannan’s face—Cas knows he’ll be paying for what he did to the familiar unless they stop the god.

“Dean, the stone…” Castiel mutters.

Dean nods. “We need him to—”

Before Dean can finish, the shard of dragon glass is ripped from his hand by an unseen force. The stone skids along the floor, sliding under a bank of arcade machines.

“You’re so vain, Dean. Carrying a mirror around with you like that.” The fiddle is pointed towards Castiel, Manannan’s left fingers take their positions on the neck and he brings the bow down.

The melody is old; Castiel can’t quite place it, but a few notes stand out as familiar, coming from a time before Manannan’s land found a new faith. Castiel can’t help himself as his left foot begins to tap the floor and his vessel thrums with the strings as they’re pulled with a single slow rasp of the bow. Placing his angel blade on the table, Castiel feels like he is straining against his instincts.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is distant and Castiel only has eyes for Manannan.

“Shhh, Dean. Now, angel, **what do you want?** ”

Strings are plucked and Castiel’s eyes fall to the flame decor on the instrument in Manannan’s hands. Pain shoots through Cas’s mouth and he realizes he’s been grinding his teeth together, resisting Manannan’s probing.

The tune gets faster.

A half snarl curls Castiel’s lips, an answer begins to claw its way out of his throat. He can no longer resist the pull from the fiddle. “To forever be at Dean and Sam’s side. To serve them, in whatever way they may need. To keep us all together, to stop this endless cycle of self-destruction and give what comfort I can.”

Manannan sneers. “Ah, so selfless, _servant_ of Heaven.” He increases the tempo. “But pray tell, what it is that you _desire_.”

Castiel sweats, clutching the wood of the table, fingernails scrabbling at its beaten, weathered surface. He remembers the splinter he’d shoved under his nail to prove to Sam he was loyal, rational. His foot and free hand are tapping along and his head is starting to jerk with the rhythm. 

“Love. For the love I freely give to be returned, embraced. Shared.” He hears Dean’s startled gasp and he feels his human eyes go hot. His right eye leaks as he glares at Manannan. This was surely going to terrify Dean. The hunter was likely never going to be comfortable with the idea that he was loved. That he was cherished. Sam was little better. 

All Castiel wanted to do was stop his family from hurting. Together, they have done some truly great things, accomplished miracles. He knows there can be more. He has caught a glimpse of that with Sam. But there is no Sam without Dean and no Dean without Sam, and Cas would be damned if it was any other way.

Doubt tries to creep into Castiel’s thoughts as he continues to level his glare at Manannan. Castiel is certain that the enchantment the old god has placed them under is only responsible for driving things to the extremes they kept facing. The fiddle is slowing and they have yet to achieve anything here bar laying their lots out on the table.

“Now, would you kindly carry the souls of the departed here over to the other side.” It wasn’t a request, really, because Castiel was certain he would break free of the fiddle’s hold if given enough time.

An arcade cabinet rocks on its feet as if to echo Castiel’s demand. Manannan eyes Castiel with suspicion and the cabinet rocks again. The old god stops the fiddle and turns around on the spot, taking in the space that surrounds them.

“As you asked so nicely, I will. But don’t expect party favors all the time.”

Mist wafts into the arcade once more and a wooden boat that can seat twelve drifts along the floor. Castiel watches closely, still unable to really move, while Manannan strides beside the boat. The old god raises his hands up into the air, beseeching to an audience that cannot yet be seen.

“Step out yer gaff and come to rest! You silly sods! You shouldn’t still be here and I don’ know why you’d think it such a grand idea to hang on. Fecking pisses me off when you do. You’re knackered and you know it! Now come, and let’s be going with ye’!”

“Uh, is it normally a good idea to insult ghosts?” Dean asks casually.

The glare that Manannan throws at Dean sends Castiel’s muscles into spasms as he fights the hold that remains. An urge to protect and shelter Dean pushes Castiel, but then he stops fighting the moment the wispy forms of the departed begin to drift past them and approach the boat.

There are more ghosts than the boat would surely hold if they were all alive. Instead the ethereal forms—dressed in clothing from the 1920s and two workmen—stack easily onto each other in the boat. The tormented souls seem docile under Manannan’s influence and just sit solemnly inside the craft.

A careless wave of Manannan’s hand and the boat drifts through the arcade, passing Castiel and Dean, dragging cold mist in its wake and then disappears through a wall.

Rounding on Dean and Castiel, the old god closes the distance to the table and crooks his fiddle once more.

“Now, where were we?”


	26. Chapter 26

“DEAN!” Sam’s eyes slam open and he looks around the motel room, the mental fog from the drugs leaving him confused and disorientated. There’s a moment, briefly, when he doesn’t remember what happened a mere hour before and then the memory slams into him.

“C-CAS!” Chest heaving, painfully sucking in air, Sam sits up in bed and tries not to wrench his stitches.

No one answers. Twisting slightly in bed, Sam spots a note on the bedside table. Picking it up in shakey drug-addled hands, Sam reads the note. The note becomes two and it takes Sam longer than he would like to decipher what Cas has written for him.

 _Of course he’s gone after to Dean… to the arcade_ , Sam lets out a huff of breath, finally comprehending the message. The note falls to the floor and he pulls the bed covers off and slowly swings his feet round to the side of the bed. Limbs feeling like they’re made of lead, Sam pushes himself up from the bed after sitting there trying to get his muscles to work. _At least he didn’t lie to me, at least…_ Sam has an idea of what he needs to do, but he needs to make sure that Manannan doesn’t get him talking first.

Sam can’t remember how many pills Cas had given him earlier, but he’s getting the feeling it was too many. The room is hazy around Sam, his leaden limbs trying to keep him tied to the bed. Lurching upwards and putting his best foot forward, Sam feels like he’s walking through molasses with each step he takes towards the clothes he had been wearing earlier.

Carefully, fingers feeling like they’re not a part of him, Sam gets dressed, leaning against a dresser for support. The whole process takes far too long, but there’s no point in running— _ha, like I can_ —to the arcade while completely naked. Sam’s boots prove the most awkward part of his ensemble, but he eventually laces the things. Stuffing a gun in the back of his jeans and a dagger in his jacket pocket seems like an almost pointless act, but it reassures Sam.

Pulling his cell out of his jacket pocket, Sam patiently works his fingers to bring up Dean’s number and then Cas’s. Both go to voicemail and Sam tries not to panic. Leaving their motel rooms, Sam will his feet onwards and hopes that Manannan hasn’t killed Dean or Cas. A cruel voice in his head pipes up and Sam tries to ignore it.

_Manannan wouldn’t kill them straight away, no fun in that._

Forcing his limbs to work together, Sam sluggishly makes his way down the street—doing a good impression of a poorly controlled puppet. Sam tries to ignore the strange looks he’s getting from the people he passes by, but he has never before been more aware of how tall and ungainly he is. The walk down the street to the arcade takes Sam ten minutes when it would normally have taken him three.

Reaching the exterior of the arcade, Sam feels a strange energy about the building. The hairs on Sam’s arms and neck begin to stand up. Sam lumbers to the front door and pushes at the safety glass. _Today Sam, how about you don’t end up tied to a chair, in a cage, being choked half to death or a combination of all those… how about you don’t end up dead and you live long enough to figure your shit out with Cas and Dean? How about we try that, yeah._

Sam pushes the door open and drags himself into the arcade. A few steps inside and Sam hears who he assumes can only be Manannan.

“Now, where were we?”

There’s no way Sam can walk quietly. Sam takes a few steps in and sees the back of Manannan and then Dean and Cas sat at a table. A fiddle string is plucked. Sam shuffles up to the gathering and clears his throat. _This better work_.

“M-Manannan!”

“You’ve decided to join us, Sam! Fantastic stuff. You’ve just missed Dean confessing that he wants your boyfriend and just can’t say no to you, and that your angel just wants to love and share. All very touching.”

Sam is well aware that he must look a mess, walking like it’s an alien concept to him—little in control of his own body. There’s no warp speed here, no chance that Sam is going to be able to defend himself if this boils down to a fight. Manannan focuses on Sam.

Before the old god can turn his fiddle on Sam, Sam begins to speak. The words aren’t prepared, but he needs to go for maximum casualties to make sure this works. As many lies as possible to throw the ancient truth-seeker for a loop, tear down his defenses, strip away his power. _It’s for the best…_ Sam ignores the slow twisting sensation that’s starting to build in the pit of his stomach.

“And so what, Manannan? I'm not sorry. For any of it. I want Dean to be left out in the cold. He doesn't deserve Cas. Cas is mine, and Dean can fuck right off and go find his own piece of tail.”

It’s not easy seeing Dean wince, but Sam stops Dean launching a retort when he gives him a teary eyed wink. Manannan is visibly tensing, shoulders drawing in. Sam feels like he’s committing ritual suicide and the dagger is hot and sharp as it digs into his abdomen.

“I don't love Cas, it's just convenient for me, because he's stuck with us and God or whatever keeps bringing him back. Dean's sick and kissing him, sucking his dick, it was the grossest thing I've ever experienced in my entire fucking life.”

Everything is the opposite. _I love Cas like I have loved no one and I can’t imagine my life anymore without him_. The ghost of how Dean felt on his lips and in his mouth flushes Sam’s pale cheeks, but he keeps up the facade.

“It was all the spell, I was worn down from being shot, loopy from pain killers, and I just closed my eyes and pretended I was making out with someone I'm actually attracted to, who's not you know, related to me. Like Jody.”

Manannan takes a weak step towards Sam and then the god stops.

“I pretended I was eating ice cream when I went down on him. It was embarrassing how he puked after, but I wish I had the strength to, too, it was so damn disgusting. I love watching Dean be miserable and I don't forgive him for any of it.”

 _The things I want_ … Sam’s swaying on the spot now, the blade deep in his stomach. There are unshed tears waiting to fall… _I need them both so much and it scares me_.

“Cas is a pathetic reject who can't take a step without fucking something up, he was a useless baby just like Dean said, and I didn't worry about him at all when he was in Idaho. I didn't even miss him at all. That's why I never called him, not even once.”

A single tear slides down Sam’s cheek and he takes a shuddering breath. Sam had worried about Cas so much when he was alone and in Idaho. Wanted to go and help his friend so much. The frustration at not being able to go… he couldn't pick up the phone. All he would've done was rail at Cas for leaving, not that he had known Dean was responsible at the time. _I don’t want to leave you again. Please forgive me, both of you_. The dagger he’s set inside himself twists one final time.

“You’re both just somewhere warm to stick my dick. Convenient holes. I’m stuck hunting with you because you’re too broken, pathetic, and needy to move on. Too lacking in self-respect and so full of self-loathing all you do is drag me down. I wish you’d let Michael have you, Dean.” 

Sam takes a deep breath, and feels his wound throb as he carefully avoids any eye contact with either of them. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if he saw their faces. He glares at Manannan, channeling all the rage he feels at the Celtic god for this mess. 

“It would’ve spared me an eternity in the cage, which I had to live through **twice** , thanks Cas! None of it was worth it if my reward is a sorry excuse for an angel and an even sorrier excuse for a brother.” Sam gasps for air, barely keeping on his feet as spots dance across his vision. 

His guts rip out as he tears the knife with a final gasp: “I don’t need you. Just let me go.” A terrible mirror of when Sam had told Dean to go last week, when his big brother had said he was poison and he and Cas had been helpless in the face of his self-loathing. 

It had burned him then like his injured chest burns now.

The pagan god drops his fiddle to the floor and raises his hands to his face, before spinning around to look upon Dean and Cas. A look of pain paints its face and Dean finally scrambles out of his seat and runs down the nearest bank of arcade machines.

Limbs still fairly unresponsive, Sam lists to the side and looks about ready to fall. 

Manannan turns back towards him and takes a shuddering step forward. Vision hazy Sam sees a blur—that might be Castiel—streak towards Manannan and grab him, twisting him on the spot. A figure that looks like Dean shoves a dark stone in the creature’s face and a howl breaks forth, leaving Sam tumbling fast to the tiles. 

The sound of water splashing to the floor dimly reaches Sam’s ears.

Strong arms greet Sam and hold him up. The dagger of guilt falls.

“I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t—”

“Shh, Sammy, we got you.”

Sam falls into his big brother’s arms while his angel wraps around him from behind. “I didn’t mean it!” He’s shaking, swaying, and a terrible sob escapes his throat, eyes hot and flooding with tears.

“Sam, we know, it’s, it’s fine.” Castiel’s voice rumbles low and comforting in his ear, but it barely soothes away any of his anxiety; instead it bolsters Sam enough to get this next bit out:

“Dean, I love you—” Sam’s breath hitches as his shoulder blades draw back, tensing like a bird trying to take flight. “Like more than I, more than is healthy. I. Christ—.” 

Sam can practically feel the loaded stare his brother and his boyfriend are exchanging over his shoulder. He pants harshly, clinging on, fingernails scrabbling in Dean’s jacket, mostly held up by the solid wall of his brother and Castiel’s arms anchoring him from behind.

“It’s—... Listen Sammy, we can sort this out later. Okay?”

Sam inhales the scent of sweat and leather under his brother’s jaw and prays that whatever it is between them, they’ll just stay together. “Don’t go. Don’t either of you go. Please don’t leave me alone. I love you too, Cas. You know I do. I know I’m—” Sam feels two fingers on the side of his temple, and knows nothing more.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean and Cas are exchanging heated whispers.

“Cas, what are we gonna do?”

Castiel raises an eyebrow and tucks a lock of hair behind Sam’s right ear as Dean fussily tucks Sam into bed. “I fail to see what, if anything we have to _do_ , Dean.”

“So, so what, we’re just— we’re just going to be one big happy fucked up family? Like the mormons?”

“I believe you are referring to some sects of the seventh-day adventists.” Cas turns to look up at Dean, eyes flashing with dark mirth. “If it pleases you, you may call yourselves my brother-husbands.” Turning bright red, Dean clenches and unclenches his fists, tense all over.

“That… that kinda talk? So not convincing me to not leave you two in the rear-view mirror.”

The angel glares at Dean, grabbing him by the jacket in both fists. “Have you learned _nothing?_ ”

The hunter evades his gaze. “I learned old gods can make people do fucked up things. Us included.” Dean’s breath leaves him, and every cell in his body seems to stop moving as Castiel’s mouth covers his own.

“Cas…” He gasps, as the angel cradles the back of his head, and Dean is hemmed in on two fronts again, just like this morning. His heart stutters and then comes to life, hammering wildly. He pushes his friend away, looking guiltily down at his brother.  
“You’re kissing me and your boyfriend is lying there, dead to the world? You don’t see a problem?”

“You don’t have to choose, Dean. None of us do.”

“Cas, this is, this is all kinds of fucked up. You seriously want to be the creamy filling in an incest oreo?”

“ _Dean_. There is little to no call for crassness. But if you must, yes. I want to be sandwiched and filled with “all of the cream”.”

He can’t help himself; a startled laugh wheezes up out of his nose as Dean does a double-take. “Did you seriously just say that to me?”

“Did you seriously just say that to _me?_ ”

Scratching at the back of his neck, he can’t quite bring himself to look at Cas. “Maybe.” He looks down at Sam, instead. _It feels pretty wrong to be having this talk without him… then again… what he was saying before Cas knocked him out..._ Dean squirms a little. _When it comes time to face the music, it’s gonna be a mariachi band right next to a firing squad._

Dean puts a hand over Cas’s, where it’s still grabbing his jacket. “Let go of my damn coat.” Cas relaxes his grip, and slowly their hands are brought down to the side, fingers interlacing loosely. Dean swallows around a tongue that feels made of sand-paper. “So uh… that stuff you said…” He darts a glance up at Cas through his eyelashes, and sees the angel’s eyes burning fiercely.

“I meant every word.”

“Cas. I can’t—”

“I no longer have the love of my family, Dean. But… it is trifling. You and Sam, you are the family I’ve chosen. And this love? I can have. I can taste and feel it, in a way I never did with the host. I hear your prayers, and it means more to me than any heavenly chorus.

"If I could hear but one thing for the rest of my existence, it would be you and Sam, saying my name. So please, Dean—” Castiel grips his hands tighter, eyes so huge and sincere that this time, Dean can believe he’s really going to stay—“let me have this. Let **us** have this. Give it a chance. Come what may, nothing will ever stop us being brothers; not you and I, nor you and Sam.”

Dean’s voice has been stolen; his throat and jaw work, his lips twitch, but nothing comes out. So he squeezes his eyes shut, leaking out a tear; Cas’s slightly rough lips chase it back up to the corner. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be alright,” he says, low and gentle, like Dean is a small child or a spooked animal.

“Not for nothin’, Cas— but, I need to hear it from Sam.” They learn their foreheads together, feeling each-other breathe, the warm press of twined fingers and calloused palms. Some part of his brain is dredging up Shakespeare from high school: “For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

The quote is tinged with a faint bit of hysteria; suddenly Dean is unbearably tired. “We gotta rest up. Get him off the happy pills. Any chance you can mojo it away?”

Castiel sighs, a soft exhale that ghosts across Dean’s face. “Regrettably, this borrowed grace does not renew itself readily. In fact— it is in somewhat limited supply.”

Dean kisses his cheek, then pats it manfully, nearer to a slap. “So what? We’ll swap out your battery, be good as new. No big deal.”

Castiel backs up and looks at the elder Winchester. “At best you are speaking of forcibly turning another angel into a human. At worst, murder of my kin. No. It’s— it’s better this way. I’m so tired of hurting people, Dean. I wish to enjoy life instead of spending my remaining time burdened by guilt.”

Dean snorts. “Welcome to every-freaking-day of my life. You sure you want to get in on the act of this three-ring circus?”

“I’ll leave off commentary from the peanut gallery on elephants in the room for the time being.”

“Well good, ‘cause if I had to talk about how scared Sammy is of clowns, the little fucker’d probably just keep pretending to sleep. Isn’t that right, Sammy?”

Sam groans. “Why does everything everything!” his little brother mumbles some incoherent stuff, and Dean walks over to ruffle his hair affectionately. _I got no freaking clue if Sam really wants the “D.” But hey, as shitty as it was to hear that stuff earlier, I know it had to be a hell of a lie for it to take down such an ancient and powerful god powered by truth._

Even so, doubt and shame twist hot in Dean’s stomach. _I want Cas. And freaking top of the Christmas tree angel he is, he wants love, peace on Earth, and goodwill towards men._ Dean glances up at Castiel, seeing him approach Sam from the other side and take his hand, brushing a kiss across the back of Sam’s knuckles.

“Hush, Sam. Return to sleep. It’s alright.”

 _How can it be alright? He wants us to agree to this, when he’s maybe got such a short shelf-life that it puts milk to shame? Fucking selfish **bastard.**_ Out of nowhere, Dean is gripped by a powerful rage that makes his heart beat hard in his chest, banging against his rib-cage like a prisoner railing at the metal bars of his jail cell.

“Imma’ step out,” Dean mumbles through numb lips and a clenched jaw. Cas nods, preoccupied with watching Sam’s face and rubbing his thumb across the back of Sam’s hand.

The shot of adrenaline has woken Dean right up, and he walks out of the motel, into the parking lot. He puts his hands on the sun-warmed roof of his car, which is almost but not quite hot enough to burn his hands. _Thank Jesus and tiny babies Chuck isn’t writing about us anymore. I need a fucking drink. Someplace shiny and plastic where none of the staff is old enough to remember cassette tapes and there isn’t a single sad-eyed sap who sits at the bar and drinks like it’s his day job. That’s the ticket._

After checking quickly on his phone to see where to find a place like that in Chicago, Dean heads out to wash the taste of smoky bars and old gods out of his mouth. Manannan and his familiar had conveniently turned to ash, so they’d been able to hightail it out of there with little concern for what was left in the their wake.

Even though he got a bit banged up today, the bandages on his shoulder haven’t bled through and he thinks he’s good to go. _Time to go be the lame old guy mixing with college kids. Show those brats how to let loose._ Cracking his knuckles with grim determination, Dean slides into the wheel behind his car and heads towards Lincoln Park.


	28. Chapter 28

Left alone with Sam, Cas kisses Sam’s forehead and gets up from the bed once more, seeking a more comfortable position. In the end, with shoes gone and his coat on a dresser, Castiel settles on climbing on top of the covers beside Sam. The movement draws a whine from Sam and the tall man shifts, rolling onto his right side and facing Cas. Reaching a hand out to Sam’s left hand, Cas begins to rub the back of it again and circles his thumb slowly over Sam’s skin.

The top of Sam’s hand is soft and covered in thick hairs like any man’s, but Cas finds himself focusing on them as he continues to stroke Sam’s hand. In stages, the shouts and closing of doors outside their room disappear; then the dripping faucet in their bathroom; the ticking of the bedside clock the bed and then all that’s left is Sam’s heart, short breaths and the fuufff, fuufff, fuufff of Cas stroking the hairs on Sam’s hand.

Sitting there, beside Sam, Cas thinks back to the night at the cave. Ponders the immaturity of his thoughts from that night. He’d been so certain that he’d only wanted to chase after _Sam-and-Cas_ that night, but now, several million thoughts, a god’s curse and many revelatory conversations later? 

_Dean may try to deny this, but we three are—can be—better together. And I would rather spend my remaining time on this Earth ensuring these two “idijits” have something worth living for then be separated from them._ A smile curls Cas’s lips, the grotesque absurdity of what he is pursuing not lost on him, but this is his preferred legacy. Not the many battles he has fought or stopping the end times from coming: finding love is what Cas wants to be remembered for.

Sam moans in his sleep and Cas looks from the man’s hand and finds that the younger Winchester is looking up at him.

“Cas?” Sam’s eyes are not quite focusing on him, the drugs still weighing him down.

“You should be asleep, Sam.” Cas moves to touch Sam’s forehead.

A shaky hand bats Cas’s fingers way. “You should be saving your grace.”

“You heard that?”

Sam nods and a worried look comes to his eyes. “Cas… there… must be something we can do? Some way to help… you can’t dangle something like this in front of me, in front of _us_ , just to tell me it’s not for keeps. I’ve only just found you and Dean.”

Castiel shifts and lays out on his left side facing Sam, a touch higher in the bed than the man. Carefully, Cas runs his right hand along Sam’s left side. The touch is gentle and meant to be reassuring, but through his fingers, Cas can feel Sam tensing, trying to hold back. The balance between them is delicate, neither quite knowing what it is they should do with each other now that the curse is lifted. And Cas is pretty certain the curse has died with Manannan. Whereas with the curse the two of them would have been kissing and touching each other intimately by now, they’re in fact managing to hold off. Managing to hold a conversation.

“There may be a way Sam, but let us concentrate on healing you and returning to the Bunker.”

Sam curls against Cas’s chest in response to that. “I’m getting better,” Sam says sulkily, “but I don’t want it to be for nothing. I don’t wanna wake up a day from now, week, month—half a year from now and find you stone cold in my bed.” _Or that you’ve wandered off to hole up and die alone like a cat or something._ “That’s not enough time, Cas. Not enough time to spend wrapped in a world we’ve hardly had the chance to explore together yet.”

“I will still be here tomorrow.” Cas kisses the top of Sam’s head.

“Even a year isn’t long enough.” _There is no way I want a repeat of the year Dean sold his soul._  Sam’s fists loosely pull on Cas’s shirt and then he lets go, reaching his left hand out to tilt Cas’s face downwards. Sam stretches and lightly kisses Castiel’s lips. The action is without urgency, without need, just a clear sign of affection.

Kissing Sam back, tenderly and without the rush of so many of their past kisses, Castiel knows that despite his objections to Dean, something would have to be done about his grace. Not today or tomorrow, or a week from now, but Cas would need to take action. This knowledge sits unpleasantly at the pit of Cas’s stomach, like a warted toad, large and bloated.

Pulling away from the kiss, Castiel presses his forehead to Sam’s. “I will see what I can do. But I make no promises.”

“That’s just not good enough. But, together? We’ll find a way.” Sam pulls them together for another slow and gentle kiss.

_I will try._


	29. Chapter 29

After Dean returned from carousing and caught his four hours, they’d hit the road back to Lebanon. Dean’s expression is flat as his hands grip the steering wheel.

From his seat beside him, Sam notes: cuts, scrapes, and the turning purple imprint in the shape of knuckles high up on his cheek. Later, he’ll have to settle into the back to nap, but for now, he sits beside his brother.

Looking on from the back, Castiel has a hand on Sam’s shoulder, rubbing small circles with his thumb. He catches Sam’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. He looks tired, enough that Sam wonders how much faster all this healing is burning through Cas’s stolen grace.

Every now and then, the angel peers intently at the back of Dean’s head, like he can change his mind and let him heal the elder Winchester, at least a little. About every half hour, Cas’s hand leaves Sam’s shoulder to hover over Dean’s. With that uncanny sixth sense, each-time before Cas’s hand can land, he says “Don’t,” bitten off and short like the report of gunfire.

Sam bites his lip and then turns his puppy-dog eyes on the side of his brother’s face. “Dean…it’s been hours. At least let me get out the first-aid kit and look after you. Your bandages probably need to be changed too, right?”

“It can wait. I want to go home.” _Even if that means standing in that same frigging place where I saw Kevin get burned right out of his damn body._

Endless rows of brown, desiccated corn stalks pass by them in the wan moonlight; it had felt good, better than it should have, when he’d snapped a pool cue over that kid’s head like a brittle stalk. The immediacy of the pain, both his wounds and the memory of dishing it out, are keeping Dean focused and together in the face of his hangover-induced migraine. It feels right, a kind of solidarity, to have all three of them fucked up in some way.

Castiel grips Dean’s good shoulder, and the elder Winchester winces and nearly jerks the wheel. “The bunker is another four hours away. We’ve not even reached Nebraska yet.”

“Don’t matter.”

“Your ankle—” Six hours of straight driving on a barely healed gunshot wound, on top of four hours driving the day before and a couple of fights, it wouldn’t be entirely surprising if internal bleeding were happening, in Cas’s opinion.

“It’s been days. ‘M fine. Okay?”

“At least let one of us drive for a little while.”

“What? Mr. Running-on-empty and Mr. Cracked Radiator? Nah, don’t think so. I got this.”

“Dean,” Sam implores.

Dean whips his head to the side and looks at his brother. “ **Enough, OK?**? I can do this. Let me do this. Christ!”

Sam’s voice is small. “I need to pee.” He chuckles weakly.

“Oh. Right. Okay.” Dean scrubs a hand through his hair, slows and pulls over to the side of the road. Sam cups the side of his face, and Dean leans into it before he can help himself; Sam dots the knuckle-shaped bruise with a kiss before sliding back to the other side and letting himself out. Dean turns bright red and clears his throat.

“It’s okay. It’s beautiful, Dean. You both are.”

“Shuddup Cas, you sound like a demented version of Stuart Smalley.”

“Because you’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and doggone it, Sam and I like you?” In the rearview mirror, Cas favours him with a crooked smile.

“You are never watching Saturday Night Live again!”

Cas squeezes the back of Dean’s neck. “Well, this is your daily affirmation. I want you to look in the mirror and repeat after me: _I am a worthy human being_.”

Dean’s lips thin to a line and he turns his head to glare out the window to see Sam coming back. _Thank_ —his thought is cut off in sheer surprise, as Cas slides his hand up and maneuvers his head into place for a kiss that’s only slightly awkward.

Dean squawks a little with indignation and embarrassment as Sam opens the door and climbs in; it gives Cas enough of an opening to slide in his tongue, chasing Dean’s own. Hot panic tinged with arousal flushes his insides. _Sam is right there and what is Cas doing, holy hell_ —He feels a gentle pressure; Sam’s lips on his temple, then on his jaw.

Sam’s huge hand is gripping his shoulder, either for leverage or balance, and part of his chest is pressed into Dean. Something inside of Dean quiets, settles down and relaxes. Sam’s hand leaves its spot and then covers his own on the steering wheel, a solid pressure as the hot slide of Castiel’s lips and tongue leave him shaking and unsteady.

_It’s—it’s really okay?_ Dean blinks rapidly and Castiel withdraws, letting him come up for air. He gasps, swallows and licks his lips, feeling Cas continue to rub circles at the vulnerable hollow between his neck and skull. He steels his courage and dares a look at Sam, who has withdrawn and is looking down at him with a soft smile.

The look in his little brother’s eyes—it’s really similar to when he’d withdrawn from making out with Dean’s dick to climb up his body to bump noses. It makes his breath catch and his gut twist. Eyes hooded, Dean resists some rather unbrotherly impulses, turns his head and starts the car. _I’ll eat Bobby’s hat if he’s not gearing up for some heavy-duty chick-flick stuff_ , he thinks with a wince.


	30. Chapter 30

It’s been a day, and after sleeping a minor eternity, Dean still doesn’t feel like leaving his room. Stripping off his shirt, he checks out where his shoulder was raked in the mirror. He frowns, tilts his head, makes the “not bad” face, and reaches for a nearby bottle of half-drunk JD, pours it over the wound.

His teeth break skin as he bites down on a hiss. _Not as healed up as I thought, if it stings like that. Oh well, one for the kitchen, one for the cook!_ Dean takes a long swallow of whiskey and pours another shot over his shoulder. The memory foam mattress is singing a siren song in his head, so he follows it back and pulls the cover back over himself, pulling his laptop onto his lap after he’s settled in.

The light from the screen washes out his face in a blue glow as he sits in the dark, alone. It’d been hard, walking past where Kevin died. Seeing traces of the kid here and there. He drinks and rubs at his eyes, studiously walling off the part of his mind that says he should be hungry and not on a liquid diet.

_It’s been awhile since I had some quality “me” time._ Not surprising, considering he’s been holed up with Sam and Cas out of necessity for near a week. _I really dunno’ if this week was better or worse than the week before. I hate, and I mean **freaking hate** , being alone, but now I got my hands full with Cas convinced sex is the answer to all our problems. _

_And hell, I’d usually even be onboard, if it weren’t for the expiry date on the carton, but Sam? Well, I don’t know what the crap to do there._ Dean chuckles weakly. _Well Lain, almighty God of the internet, maybe I can pray the gay away?_

In mere seconds, he’s got five tabs of some of his favourite vids open, and he switches between them, ferreting out the juiciest bits. His dick twitches with interest, but mostly he feels tired. He drinks some more and starts to feel a bit looser; touches himself in long lazy strokes, the kind he ordinarily doesn’t get to indulge in because time is usually a factor.

_Wait a minute, I’m still touching a dick, even if it’s my own. Is this really helping things?_ Dean zones out for a minute, thinks of how Cas’s penis looked, how Sam’s had looked, how it made him feel, if it was that different from touching his own. Traitorously, his penis decides now is when it’s going to be interested and stiffens up in no time at all.

Dean frowns and burns a hole glaring into the screen where some poor weeping high-schooler is in a vise-grip of many tentacles and they’re sliming all over her before entering her, sometimes multiple to a hole. _How would that feel? Is that really pleasurable?_

The cartoon character is giving these little screams of “no” and “stop” that betray that she actually likes it, as is the case with Japanese cartoon porn. _I bet Cas could take it. I’d bet he’d like that an awful lot, since he’s apparently Heaven’s dirtiest angel._

Dean scowls and switches to another tab; it’s got right to the part where the twin brother is about to bend his twin sister over and do her doggy-style right in the front hallway of their house where anyone who got too close could hear. You can’t really see anything from the guy, just his sister’s big tits bouncing around as he shoves in without prep. Of course, since it’s a cartoon, that doesn’t matter. Dean shudders, ears turning bright red as his dick spasms.

_It’s just a cartoon. That makes this perfectly ok. Nobody getting hurt. No complications._ Two of the brother’s friends approach the house and hearing the strange noises go investigate, busting in on them en flagrante. One of them is his ex-girlfriend. Whose virginity he took. The betrayed expressions and the tears make Dean slam the laptop closed, bouncing it off the side of his leg to rest crookedly half on his lap, half on the bed. Dammit.

Well, guess that was a bust. He polishes off the bottle and drinks himself right back to sleep. When he comes to, Sam is shaking his shoulder.

“Hey, hey Dean. Wake-up. You need to eat, man.”

“No.” Dean groans, rolling back over. His stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud rumble. He can  _hear_ Sam’s bitch-face.

“I think yes. You think yes, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it. Come on, I made pancakes.”

“You? You made pancakes.” Dean turns over and looks up at his brother.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I can follow directions. Come on, get up already before Cas guzzles all the whipped cream.”

“Okay. But get out of here, I’m not decent.”

Sam raises an eyebrow and just looks at him, tapping his fingers over one folded arm.

“Sam…Sammy.”

His brother huffs. “I’m not under the spell anymore, Dean. I _will_ be able to contain myself at the sight of those perky nipples you’re so proud of.”

Dean scowls, throwing the covers back, and gets out of bed. “Well they _are_ pretty perky.” Sam just grabs a pair of his sweatpants off the floor at throws them at Dean in reply before heading back out to the kitchen. And Dean is so not thinking about Cas making good on his promise of having “all of the cream.” No way.

Face burning, he pulls on the sweats, even though they’ll do nothing at all to hide what’s happening downstairs. _Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts_. Dean grins, remembering a bit from The Simpsons, and that effectively makes his morning wood calm down.

He pads out to the kitchen and sure enough, there’s Cas eating whipped cream straight out of the can as promised. Sam is trying to wrestle the can from his fingers, and Cas just smirks, refusing to budge his grip. “Dude!”

“ _Dude_.” Cas’s face is an awful mess, and Sam sighs in resignation.

“Guess I”ll just have to make you forget all about it.” Sam kisses Cas, and then is licking the whipped cream off of Cas’s face. The can clatters to the floor.

Dean coughs and smiles brightly. “Howdy gents. Not encouraging me to eat, by the way. Just so you know.” He loads up his plate, grabs the whipped cream canister off of the floor, gives his stack of pancakes a nice shot.

Sam and Cas look at him slightly guiltily, as he spoons some strawberries in syrup around the edges. Dean doesn’t look up.  
“On that note, I’m taking this where I can enjoy it. Thanks. Later.”

“Sam…”

“I know, Cas. I’m going to go talk to him.”


	31. Chapter 31

Getting a plate with his own stack of pancakes, whipped cream, syrup and fruit, plus a fork, Sam follows after Dean. Winding up in the war room, Sam tries to act casual as fuck as he sits down opposite Dean. Sure they were heading fast to a chick flick moment, but Sam knows they need to talk. Have an actual conversation about what it is that they are or could be.

“How’s the pancakes?” Sam breaks off some of his and stuffs a forkful into his mouth.

Dean looks up from his sandwich of pancake, which he made by flipping the top two off the stack so all the filling is inside, with the other two pancakes remaining on the bottom. The filling is oozing out around the back and covering the sides of his mouth, threatening to get on his fingers. “Fan- _freaking_ -tastic, Sammy. You did a good job.”

Sam chuckles. “Don’t get used to it.” Sam takes another mouthful of pancake. They need to talk, but Sam doesn’t want to start piling on the questions straight away. Dean needs to eat and he can just imagine his older brother pushing the plate away, getting up and leaving the moment he starts to pry.

“Never said I was.” _And that’s the whole thing in a nutshell, isn’t it?_

Dean makes a happy sound as he takes another huge bite, and the cream and strawberry syrup slide out, hitting the hollow of his palms as he insists on eating it like it’s a burger. He chews and swallows, before casually asking. “Hey, what happened to Cas? I know he doesn’t exactly you know, eat, but…”

For the moment, Sam chooses to fill his mouth with more pancake before answering. The reason for Cas indulging so is not particularly happy. Swallowing the bite of pancake, Sam places his fork on the plate and puts a hand through his hair.

“Uh, his… his tastebuds are a little more human, because of the borrowed grace being burned off as much as it has.” Sam looks away from Dean, and instead focuses on an invisible mark on his jeans.

Dean blinks, then moodily takes another bite of pancake, blood-red syrup and white cream mixing to a pink trail as it runs down his wrists. “I meant why isn’t he here, Sam. I know the guy’s got a sweet tooth. But thanks for uh, _penciling me in_ on the other thing. Really takes a load off.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Sam licks his lips and pushes his own pancakes away. His stomach feels like he’s just swallowed a bag of snakes. _Okay, how do I frame this, uh…_ “Dean, I wanted to talk, just us.”

“Oooh, here we go. Well, you made me food so you’ve got exactly until I finish it.” Dean’s pancake sandwich is disappearing rapidly, looking like a waning moon. He pauses to lick at his wrists and around the edges where everything is seeping out.

 _For… damnit_. “Well, to get straight to the point, since you’re not exactly leaving me a choice,” Sam glares a little at Dean while the guy continues nonchalantly eating his pancakes, “I think we’re “more than brothers”. Just like that web-site Becky used to run. I’ve drank the kool-aid, and I liked it. So…” Sam windmills helplessly with his fork.

“And what do you expect me to do with that, Sam? With the idea that uh…” Dean rests his wrists on the plate, pancakes just over half-eaten.

“Look Dean, we’ve already waltzed back and forth across the line so many times by now, this shouldn’t even come as a surprise to you.”

Dean licks his lips and looks away. “Maybe… but, come on. You wouldn’t have ever thought that stuff if that cider-chugging-dickbag hadn’t put the idea into your head. Hell, Cas too,

"He flat-out told me he said no to me in “his heart of hearts” because the idea that we were destined to be together made him sick. Hell it makes me sick too. And look at us, supposedly we’re soul mates? What kind of twisted shit is that? Where’s the free will in Team Free will, huh? I sure as hell don’t see it.”

“So, because some dick pagan god kicked up these feelings and even though the curse is clearly lifted, we should ignore what we might be feeling… Right. So we can make any choice we want so long as we don’t pander to that. We can only choose to do nothing? Right? Even though we’re not hurting anyone. We can only make that choice. Where’s your free will in that?!”

“Sammy—”

“ _No_ , Dean. You listen to me. For once. _I want you_. I want you and Cas. And he wants you and me. Everyone wants to be happy together, you’re the only one standing in the way. Is it really so hard to believe anything that makes you happy can’t possibly be good?”

Dean stuffs his pancakes into his mouth, chewing fast, hands becoming a mess and crumbs of cake going everywhere. “Thash enuff. ‘M outta’ ‘ere.” He starts to push away from the table, and Sam traps him, coming around quick as a thought to wrap his arms around Dean and put his lips to his ear.

“I want you. I want my big brother’s dick. And I want my lover. I want my lover and best friend, and your best friend to be your lover, too. There’s so many things I want to do with and to you Dean, and Cas. I know you want it; you were never under a spell. Just let it happen.”

Sam attacks his neck, aggressively sucking a hickey into it, and Dean groans, frozen. His mouth is sticky and sandy, and it’s only half his breakfast making his saliva thick. The syrup is cloying, and he’s out of breath.

“Sam—” Dean cobbles two wits together. “I’m scared.” Sam stops attacking his neck, and pulls out the chair next to Dean, sitting down. “If… if I screw this up…” Dean looks down at his dirty hands, “I’ll have nothing. I can’t—I can’t deal with that, Sam.

"And Cas—he’s asking me to come on-board here, to get even more attached, when I’ve already had to lose him four times in as many years?

"There was… there was Stull first, then the Leviathans, then Purgatory and robo-Cas was bad enough, but if...if ‘Zeke, I mean, if Gadreel hadn’t brought him back after that reaper bitch shanked him—” Dean swallows, picks up a napkin and starts patting at his wrists.

“I nearly lost it then. I, I made Gadreel have to stay in you longer so I wouldn’t lose him.” Dean’s voice drops to a broken whisper as he crumples his napkin. “After this, if—there’d be no coming back for me. Not this time.”

Sam looks up at Dean, eyes huge and liquid. He leans forward and puts one hand on his brother’s knee, the other cups his face. “I know. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find a way to save him, Dean. And…” the younger Winchester’s eyes become shuttered, “if worse comes to worse… we can always make him human. So, he’s not gonna die. Not any time soon. You got me?”

“Maybe…” Dean leans into the warmth of his brother’s hand, and takes a deep breath. Sam takes that moment where his eyes are closed on the exhale to press a gentle kiss to his lips, and it should be weird, how not weird it feels, but it isn’t.

His body responds like this is something completely natural that happens every day, and he’s kissing Sam back. It actually does feel a lot like one of those chaste kisses he and Cas had exchanged at the hospital; just comfort and affection, underneath the near giddying knowledge that it’s Sam, his Sam.

It’s not at all like before, when he’d basically been so angry and worn down he’d snapped and pretended for awhile that he was having a sex with a guy who just happened to look like Sammy. The tears he’d been holding in slip out, and he feels his brother wipe it away with his thumb.

Sam had been the one who never gave up on Cas. Even when he was running around hopped up on Purgatory souls, even after he’d slaughtered that office full of innocent people— _it’d been Sam who had thought to pray to Cas one last time_ , despite being out of his gourd himself while Dean had wallowed in despair, betrayal, and bitter nihilism.

_Maybe, just maybe, he can pull it off this time, too. Put “Saving Cas” in the W column. Maybe we can pull this off. Maybe I can have one good thing in my life. Well, two._

Sam withdraws and offers Dean a shaky smile. “Definitely. We’re gonna be okay. Promise.”

“Are we really, Sammy? There’s still the little matter of uh—you know. The—You know. The thing.” Dean blushes and scratches at the back of his neck, unable to look at Sam.

 _Holy Hell, I didn’t realize he could be this cute_. Sam arches an eyebrow. “You mean the thing where we’re in a mutual polygamous relationship?”

Dean mumbles, “Cas said we could call each-other his “brother-husbands”. That’s pretty frigging messed up. Even though I’m sure he was yanking my chain, I think he meant it.”

Sam leans forward, forearms on his knees as he looks up at Dean. “I know you’re probably way past your limit for talking about this kinda thing—” Dean meets his eyes and nods emphatically. “But, just listen to me for a minute longer, okay?”

Dean sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, but doesn’t fold his arms. “Okay. On the condition that we never talk about it again. _Capiche_?”

“I don’t know about _never_. That’s not how relationships work, Dean.”

“Hell if I’d know. Get to the point, Sammy.”

Taking a deep breath, Sam looks Dean deeply in the eyes and implores him to really listen. “Since this mess started, every time I've looked at Cas and you together, I've known you were a matched pair. But I'm greedy, Dean.

"At first, I felt possessive and jealous—what Cas and I had between us, was so fragile and new... it seemed to pale in comparison to what you and he had. Every day, seeing the two of you so easy together, so right—it drove me fucking nuts, okay?

"When we made out, even under the spell, some corner of my mind always felt like something was missing. When Cas told me he chose me, not you, well I just felt—empty. Hollow. It wasn’t enough.

“But, when I saw you and Cas kissing the other day, it finally clicked. All those stray thoughts I had about how kinky it'd be, how hot you look despite being my brother... I realized maybe it's _because_ you're my brother. Because we're all brothers and we belong together.

"All Cas wants is to love and be loved... well, that's what I want, too. I'm tired of it taking one of us dying or nearly dying to acknowledge what's between us. _I love you, Dean_. In every way. I know you can't say it back, not yet—that's okay. I don't need you to. Actions speak louder than words, especially to you. So, come here. Kiss me again.”

“That’s it? That’s your big speech? Just for the sake of a smooch—” Dean taps his mouth and winks, “from this filthy mouth?”

“Dean!” Sam makes a strangled noise and is mid bitch-face when Dean, still smirking, gets right up in his grill and kisses him, hot and open-mouthed.

Sam groans into it, flat-footed from having his heart laid completely bare, and it takes him a minute or two to get with the program. They trade more kisses, getting wetter and filthier. When they part for air, Sam’s got Dean’s shirt bunched in his hand and his brother’s strong hands are tangled up in Sam’s hair.

“Your big brother’s gonna take good care of you, and your angel’s gonna take good care of us both. Right, Samantha? So save me the life-time movie moments from here on out, mm'kay?”

A dumb nod makes its way out of Sam, his thoughts a confusion of just realizing what he’s managed to say to Dean and the fact that Dean started that last kiss. Catching his breath, Sam doesn’t immediately let go of Dean’s shirt and his brother’s fingers remain entwined with his hair. They’ve entered a game of chicken, seeing who will break away first. It’s a strange game though, because Sam could swear that their mouths are drifting slowly closer, with a collision imminent.

“No… more... life-time… movie… moments…” Sam says a little breathlessly, hands pulling Dean by the shirt and bringing their mouths together again. Tongue teasing at Dean’s lips, Sam entices his brother’s mouth open and he revels in the sweetness still there, tasting every bit of Dean.

Dean’s hand strokes through Sam’s hair and it underlines the tenderness that was also in Dean’s words. Breaking the kiss, but staying very much in Sam’s space, Dean leans their foreheads together.

Sam pushes it a tiny bit more. “What… does taking good… care of me mean?”

That earns him a tug on his hair and Dean stealing a kiss, pushing their mouths open and exploring Sam. It’s short and Dean pulls away first.

“Maybe that for a start, but I’m not spoilering things for you, Sammy.” Dean’s breaths are a little shorter, but he remains in Sam’s space. Sam mulls that statement over, but what’s more telling is the way Dean’s hand loosens in his hair, but stays there.

“Ahem,” Cas coughs from the other side of the table and Sam startles, causing Dean to yank his hair on accident.

“Ow!” Sam rubs at his scalp and Dean takes his hand away.

“Chri—Man, you cannot sneak up on us like that, Cas!”

“Apologies, but I needed to talk to you before you began kissing again.”

Sam looks straight at Cas and feels his cheeks turning a little red. “You were watching us?”

The angel looks down at his feet for a moment, sheepish, and then gazes back at Sam and Dean. “I thought that Sam’s private conversation with you may have ended when I entered here… and while I know I should not have stayed when it was obvious you were not done talking, I found it difficult to stop watching when Dean began to kiss you.”

There’s a small huff from Dean and he shoots Cas a smirk. “So we’ve got ourselves a peeping angel.”

Sam laughs. “That’s nothing new.”

“Do you want me to tell you what I came here to tell you?”

Carefully, Sam gets up and stretches, limbs aching from being so awkwardly sat on the map room’s hard chairs. “If it’s to confess that you ate all of the remaining whipped cream—”

“No, it is to tell you that I have found some lore in regards to Abaddon.”

“Then spill, peeping angel.” Dean climbs out of his seat and Sam can feel his brother’s eyes lingering on his stomach, his shirt having pulled up during the stretch.

“Apparently there is an old blade that will kill her, but I have so far been unable to translate the name of this blade. The Sumerian dialect it is in, is very unusual and I’m not entirely convinced it is ancient Sumerian—”

“There’s a way to gank this bitch once and for all?” Dean’s walking around the table now. Sam follows.

“Yes.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on the home stretch! Just another fifteen percent or so is left to put up.  
> \--Zeryx

After eight hours; twenty three cups of coffee; a half-dozen restroom breaks; a pumpkin seed fight started by Dean when Sam brought them “snacks” and too many books later: the three of them are no closer to translating the name of the blade. Still, it is enough to hope that there is one and Castiel is sure that they will find its name in time.

Slamming a book closed, Dean leans back in his seat and lets out a long groan. “Look, we know there’s something, can we just leave it at that for now?… We need to get out of here.”

Cas closes his book, but more gently. “Perhaps you are right.”

Leaving a torn piece of paper between the pages he was reading, Sam shuts his book and pushes his seat out to stand up. “I think I might have read the same paragraph three times in the past ten minutes, I’m not sure.” And we’re still no closer to damn a name. Sam tries not to let his frustration show; Cas’s lead is the best they’ve had in weeks.

“Okay, it’s official, we are all going out for fresh air and beers.”

“And something to eat, right?” Sam’s stomach audibly rumbles.

“That too.” Dean gets to his feet. “Meet me in the garage in five.”

Heading to his room, it takes Sam a moment to realize that Cas is not far behind him. “You alright, Cas?”

Sam looks to Cas and sees a worried expression on his face. “Dean seems awfully okay with things.”

“Awfully okay?” Sam flips on the light to his room and heads in, pulling on a jacket from a chair and picking up his gun. “What’s—”

“You did not hear him back at the hospital, after we left you. He told me he loved me and that he wanted me to be happy with you.”

Sam feels the burn as his injured lung struggles for air. “He what? No wonder he took hearing we’re in love with each-other so hard the next day. When exactly were you going to tell me this, Cas?”

The angel’s gaze is inscrutable. “There was never a good time. I’m telling you now.”

Sam sighs and rakes a hand through his bangs, slowly sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t want to fight about this. We’ll figure it out. Can you give me the cliff-notes version of what happened in the car?” Sam sits down on his bed heavily.

Castiel folds his arms, looking thoughtful. “I dried Dean and changed his clothing. He kissed me and told me he loved me, in what appeared to be a platonic manner. I returned the sentiment. Shortly thereafter, he asked me if I truly desired him, or if it was merely left-over programming from Heaven.

"I said what seemed true at the time, which was that I wasn’t entirely sure, but regardless I had chosen you. After that, he became desperate and seemed on the verge of trying to run away again. He wished you and I well. I reassured him that we must stay together.” Cas looks slightly embarrassed. “I may have used a small expenditure of grace to ease him into rest.”

 _Of course. I should’ve known there was a whole story to Dean’s comment that Cas had rejected him._ Sam narrowly avoids the urge to bang his head on the wall.

“Regardless, you two may have talked this morning, but I guarantee you that your brother is just pushing everything down.” Cas leans against the doorway.

Grabbing the boots he’d left there, Sam pulls them on and doesn’t reply. Instead he mulls over what Cas has just said.  _That would be just like Dean. Still in denial, still not letting himself have this. Still not letting us in, just putting on a cocky mask and using sex to push away further questions. Hell it's not anything I haven't seen him do before._

All Dean had said earlier was what he would do, what he and Cas would do. There’d been no statement that he was okay with what they were doing or that he is even more than okay with it all.

“Look… let’s see what happens after a few drinks,” _or ten in Dean’s case,_ “and then maybe we can try talking or something again.”

Sam stands and walks to the doorway, but Cas remains where he is and blocks his path.

“I said we’ll talk to him, Cas. Let’s get going.”

The angel’s hands reach forward and pull Sam close. Cas presses their lips together, and lets his hands wander. Sam lets his happen for a few seconds and then he’s pushing Cas up against the doorway and grabbing at his trenchcoat. Tongues eagerly find each other and the two of them messily make out, half in Sam’s room and half in the hallway.

A car horn sounds from the garage and Sam pulls away.  
  


***

  
They’re in public, so of course the touchy-feely stuff has to be shelved. Especially between Sam and Dean. They’re near home so the bartender knows all three of them, knows Sam and Dean are brothers.

However, that hasn’t stopped Dean and Cas from progressively sliding closer and closer to each-other in the booth. Hasn’t stopped a possessive hand skimming the small of Dean’s back as Cas walked around to observe the elder Winchester shooting pool.

Sam and Dean aren’t hustling today—they’re playing a friendly game, together. The younger Winchester can’t help but notice and it’s throwing him off; he knows what Cas’s game is, knows the angel is trying to cement things more thoroughly with Dean in hopes of making him pliable and more likely to talk. But still, it stings.

Sam clenches his jaw as Dean laughs at something Cas has said, and screws up his shot; the cue-ball jumps and hits the 6 weakly, making it tick sideways and put the 8-ball into the corner pocket.

The clack and thunk of the ball seems very loud in the sudden silence as Dean and Cas both stare at him. “Ho, bad break there, Sammy.”

“Yeah,” Sam returns, gruff. “I’m going to get another drink.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Alright. I’ll finish this off while you’re gone and rack up a new game.”

Sam nods and stalks off to the bar, Cas trails in his wake.

“Sam, you seem upset.”

“It’s nothing, Cas. It’s just—I. You know. I can’t … in public. It’s… a bit of a tough pill to swallow.” They come to the bar, and Cas waits silently while Sam orders another round, plus a double shot of single-malt scotch for himself. Cas steals the shot out of Sam’s hand and downs it.

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself.” Cas gives him one of his lop-sided smiles, and Sam goes a little weak in the knees. _Guess I didn’t need that anyway._

Sam licks his lips. “Bathroom?”

“Sam, I don’t—Oh. Then yes.”

Sam leaves their drinks on the bar and walks to the bathroom with Cas. Once they’re inside, he motions to a stall, and then he’s pushing the angel up against one side of it, kissing him like he’s drowning and Castiel’s mouth on his is giving him oxygen.

After a couple of moments of wet, hot, furious kissing and gasping for air, Castiel pushes Sam into the opposite wall. “Sam.”

The younger Winchester surges forward, craning up into Cas’s space. “Cas.”

“Sam, that was very pleasant, but what is this about?”

“You’re _mine_.” Sam whispers. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes… we’ve established this.”

“It’s hard, watching you with Dean. Still.” Sam looks down, eyes skittering past the toilet and down to Cas’s dress shoes. Cas squeezes Sam’s shoulder in silent encouragement. “I mean, I can’t—if we—in public….” Sam makes a frustrated noise. “I feel like a third wheel, and I don’t like it, but I don’t know what to do.”

“There is only one thing _to do_ , Sam. Let’s go home.”

“Hey hey, the ‘80s called, they want their cocaine snorting in bathroom stalls back.” Dean’s head is popping up over the top of the next stall and grinning down at them. He gives a little wave. “All we need is a little New Order piping in from the speakers and we’re good to go.”

Cas looks up at Dean, smiles sweetly, and gives him the finger. Both Winchesters choke on startled laughs. “We are now disbanding this meeting of the Dean Winchester fan club to have a meeting of the Sam Winchester fan club. All in favour of this motion, say “Aye”.”

Dean laughs, “Alright, well I’m not gonna stop you crazy kids. I’m gonna hang on here a bit longer.”

“No, as co-vice president, your attendance is mandatory.”

Dean and Sam both raise their eyebrows at this. Sam chuckles. “Okay, who’s the president, then?”

“The founder and president is Becky Rosen. She started the club in 2005.”

Dean smirks and Sam groans. “Okay, forget I asked.”

The elder Winchester folds his arms over the side of the stall wall and flips Cas off. “You can’t tell me what to do. I want to hang out a bit longer.”

“Perhaps I can’t… but I can… make it worth your while.” Cas licks his lips and smoulders at Dean, and Sam feels his face go red. It was always this weird mix of horrifying and arousing when Cas displayed mannerisms he’d picked up from Dean.

“A-alright. Yeah. Okay. Let’s do another round and head back, ok?” Dean disappears and they hear him climb down and leave.

Sam rubs at his eyes. “He’s unbelievable. You’re—” he gives a frustrated sigh.

Cas tilts his head and studies Sam quizzically. “Nothing unusual has occurred.”

“Maybe not. I don’t know… this stall is too small for two grown men.”

“Yes. Unless they’re very friendly….” Cas presses up against Sam, sucks and nibbles a hickey into the juncture of neck and shoulder while the latter goes weak-kneed. He then drops a kiss on Sam’s forehead, winks in a very exaggerated manner, and exits the stall.

Sam supports himself with the wall for a beat before going to the sink and splashing cold water on his face. Dean and his flip comments. Cas and his outrageous flirting. _It’s all so… shallow. Can’t we just, be together without all these stupid masks? I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one who’s not hiding something around here._

The enchantment, curse, or whatever is gone and we’re not trying to fuck each other every five minutes, well, Cas and I aren’t… This is so stupid, I wan— no, need them both.

Sam tries for a moment to imagine what it would be like without either Cas or Dean and a pain sits low in his gut until he banishes that train of thought. Sam pats his face dry with a paper towel and heads back out to the bar.

When he gets there, he’s greeted by the sight of Dean and Cas sitting on stools at the bar, drinking their beers, a space deliberately left open between them that's probably meant for Sam. They look at ease but Sam can’t help wondering how fragile it is. _I’ll get Dean to talk if it’s the last thing I do. Even if it means—I don’t know. Tying Dean up, blindfolding him and having Cas and—no that won’t work. That’s probably wrong…_

Reaching the empty seat, Sam sits down between Cas and Dean, his knees bumping into theirs.

“Sorry.” Sam tries to readjust, but there’s not much room between them and the bar and if he pulls his stool back any further, he’s not going to be able to reach his drink. _Or like I’m some satellite orbiting this gathering, with no real purpose or need to be there_ , Sam thinks dryly to himself.

Dean shakes his head, and drapes an arm around Sam, pulling him closer. “What, are you Canadian now? Forget it. Here.” Dean’s fingers scrabble at the space where Sam’s beer had been resting, as Cas is already handing it to Sam. “Oh uh, thanks Cas.”

Cas’s fingers meet Sam’s around the neck of the bottle, and he gives the younger Winchester a shy smile, putting his now empty hand on Sam’s thigh. Sam nods, distracted, frowning down at the bottle in concentration. _I have to know Dean really wants this, but how?_

The weight of Dean’s arm remains and Sam lets out a breath, trying not to move the hug beyond the brotherly companionship that they should be showing in a place that they’re known. _Maybe we should have driven a couple of towns over and got a motel room after going to a different bar_ , Sam thinks wistfully and then takes a sip of his beer.

Dean’s arm stays put and Sam begins to wonder how to remove it without making a big deal. Looking down, Sam finally takes in that Cas’s hand is on his thigh.

“Uh, guys?” Sam asks loud enough that only Dean and Cas can hear.

“Yeah, Sammy?” He meets Dean’s eyes, darkened to brown in the dim light of the bar, and swallows.

“I think Sam means it’s time to go.” Sam turns to look at Cas, and flashes him a grateful smile.

“Yeah, Cas. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Alright. I hear ya’.” Dean steals the beer bottle out of Sam’s hand and chugs it down in a matter of seconds, then lets out a loud belch. “Couldn’t let that go to waste. Let’s mosey.”

They head outside and get into one of the cabs idling nearby. They can’t take it all the way back to the bunker, but a half mile isn’t a bad walk on a crisp fall night.

Once the cab is a memory, and the mound of the Bunker looms ahead, Sam feels a hand on his ass. They’re walking side-by-side, with Sam in the middle, Dean on his left and Cas on his right.

“Whose hand is that?” Sam doesn’t look at either of them.

The most childish of snickers, eased out by drink, erupts from both Dean and Cas.

A second hand is added and now it’s obvious that both his brother and his angel are trying to cup his cheeks through his jeans. Sam’s not going to ignore the attention, though part of him really wants to, just out of spite.

He sighs and slumps his shoulders, blushing and scuffing his feet on the way back. One hand rests in the back pocket of his jeans, the other just slides up and down, staying on his body with the long strides of his legs. He thinks he knows which must be which. _This has got to be a good sign, right?_ Sam clears his throat.

“So, I was thinking…”

“Oh boy, this never ends well.”

Sam ignores the jibe and continues. “I’m thinking I’d really like you both to try tying me up. I boss you both around and things tend to go a bit further than maybe is comfortable… so if I’m bound and blindfolded…”

Dean whistles, impressed. “I stand corrected. Sam, you kinky son of a bitch!”

“Sam, are you sure of this course of action?”

Sam nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’ve been uh, overdoing it a bit lately, what with the lung and all...”

Dean rakes a hand through his hair. “Guess I’m game if you are. So uh… how’re Cas and I…?”

Sam looks to Cas for confirmation. “You tell Dean what to do, he does it?”

Cas nods, his hand leaving Sam’s ass to cover his shoulder. “That seems acceptable. Dean?”

“Yeah, I… okay.”

The three of them reach the main door and Sam lets out a nervous breath. _I really don't like giving up control. It's happened too many damn times in my life already. First dad pushing me around, then the demon blood, then Lucifer... then the hallucinations of Lucifer... but I need to do this for Dean. I need him to open up. I need for us to all trust each-other this way. Well, I trust Cas already… and I’m getting there with Dean._

“The safeword’s Starship.” Sam announces the moment they step inside.

Dean laughs. “Really, Sammy?”

Sam scowls and hunches his shoulders, putting his hands in his pockets. “Well, you named them! Plus, horrible and hard to kill, that’s us, right?” His tone is flip, but he blushes faintly. Dean slaps him on the back and grins.

“Yeah, sure. You got it, little brother.”

Cas snuffles into Sam’s neck, “Horribly tasty, perhaps.”

Making a pained sound, Sam ducks away from Cas. “You—how are you worse with pick up lines than Dean?”

They’ve stopped near the entrance, taking off their shoes. Cas’s eyes glitter up at Sam in the dim light. “Maybe I just know what you like.”

Sam blushes and stays silent. It’s taking all of his nerve to keep it together and go through with this; the thought of being at the mercy of his brother, while his boyfriend watches, is slowly melting his brain.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following chapter originally took about a week to write between Zeryx and I (mostly Zeryx). I tried to look at ways to split it up, but it only works altogether. Enjoy. - hit_the_books

“Mmm… well, I know what I like, it’s having Heaven’s formerly most chastity-belted angel being raunchy…” Dean noses in under Cas’s jaw, kissing the soft, vulnerable spot between jaw and ear.

“Maybe it’s not the belt I like, but the collar, Dean,” Cas says, low but enough to carry in the cavernous entry-way. Sam sucks in a breath like he’s been punched in the gut and he’s not sure there’s a word for the sound Dean makes.

Sam watches as Dean takes Cas’s face in both hands and nibbles on his lips, whispering something he almost doesn’t hear: “What if I like the belt, Cas?” Something burns in Sam’s guts and gets up in his eyes, _I feel like I shouldn’t be seeing or hearing this. This seems private. But… No, no, I’ve gotta snap out of it._

He’s so lost in his thoughts he almost doesn’t hear Cas’s murmured reply, “Are we still speaking of chastity?”

“You _know_ what I’m talking about…” his brother’s hands are in Cas’s messy hair, tugging it back; the angel allows this and exposes his throat while Dean bites down slowly, deliberately. The air in the bunker should be cold and slightly stale; instead it feels overwhelmingly hot and stifling.  
“When you were human… do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off of you? How hard it got me, knowing I could do _this_ —” Dean bites at Cas’s throat again, and the flesh turns a dark, angry red— “and it’d stick? That I could mark you as my very own… I think that’s half the reason why I let Gadreel kick you out of here…”

A numb, detached part of Sam notes: _this is all making a terrible kind of sense… anything that reminds Dean of… of that part of himself usually makes him run screaming in the other direction._ Sam swallows. _Maybe Cas being human wouldn’t be the worst thing, ever… maybe I… Shit, get it together, Sam!_

Cas has stiffened up, and his tone is slightly frosty. “Oh, is that so… well fortunately, tonight is about _Sam_.” He moves away from Dean, and shrugs out of his coat.

Sam smirks. “You heard the angel. Under my clothes, there’ll be lots of evidence left behind that I belong to you by the time we’re through.” Sam desperately hopes Dean takes the bait, and his gut churns in anticipation.

Dean looks abashed, oddly shy; his face struggles for a more neutral expression. He licks his lips and takes off his jacket. “Yeah.” He swallows and folds it loosely, rolling it over itself. “Yeah.” His big brother is suddenly incapable of looking at either Cas or Sam.

Mentally, Sam groans. _Crap… well, that’s ok, that’s why Cas is going to be telling him what to do. We’ll get through this._ Sam gets into Dean’s space, slowly sliding his hand from his elbow to just up under the shirt sleeve, to his bicep.

“Dean, it’s okay. I want this.”

“Sure.”

Sam sighs. _It’s always got to be action with Dean._

“This way.” Cas takes the lead and walks through the map room. Sam watches as Dean hesitates for a moment and then follows the angel. Sam follows both of them.

They weave through several of the hallways and then Cas draws level with the doorway to the infirmary. Sam almost bumps into Dean, who’s stopped just inside the doorway and quietly regards the room. _I wish I knew what he’s thinking_ , Sam sighs and gently nudges in the small of his back. Dean doesn’t jump, thankfully, and takes a few steps inside.

Cas is eyeing up an examination table near the center of the room. “This will do.” The table has restraints. Sam looks upon the padded leather cuffs and swallows nervously.

“We... don’t have to do this,” Dean whispers, standing level with Sam.

“Don’t you want to?” Sam whispers back.

Dean doesn’t reply; he puts his coat down on a metal counter and nervously rubs the back of his neck. Sam puts his jacket down beside Dean’s, kicks off his boots and starts to remove his shirt.

“Sam, keep your clothes on for now.” Cas is suddenly standing right behind him. Sam nods silently, words lost in anticipation and allows himself to be moved by Cas to the table.

Jumping up and sitting up on the side of the table, Sam watches Cas with interest. The angel turns to Dean. “I want you to bring me one of your ties.”

There’s a nod from Dean and he disappears in the direction of the bedrooms. Cas focuses on Sam again. “Remember your safe word. If there is anything you are uncomfortable with then you need to tell us.”

Sam frowns. “Just what are you planning on having Dean do to me?”

“I’m planning on showing him you.”

That was pretty vague, even for Cas. Dean’s booted steps sound along the hallway and he appears carrying one of his FBI ties and is about to hand it to Cas when Cas shakes his head.

“No, we begin now. Dean, fix that tie around Sam’s head so he can’t see anything.” Cas takes a couple of steps back.

Licking his lips, Sam watches his brother as he approaches him with the tie. Dean doesn’t waste any time in working it around Sam’s eyes and head. He wishes he could read the expression on Dean’s face; it’s not quite neutral anymore, maybe a hint of nervousness. _Is he nervous about doing anything or that I’m not going to be in a position of power?_

Sam doesn’t know if Dean’s expression changes once the tie is secure as he can see very little; just white light with the occasional patch of shadow from the edge of his make-shift blindfold.

“Spread your brother out on the table, Dean.”

The moment Dean’s hands are on Sam’s legs, helping him onto the table properly, Sam takes in his own nervous breath. Dean’s hands don’t hesitate, they’re firm and gentle in their movements with no shakes or twitches, and he eases Sam down to the examination table. A hand behind Sam’s head guides him so he doesn’t thump backwards. The scent of Dean’s cologne— something incongruously tropical with notes of coconut and cloves— mixed in with beer and leather, waft across Sam’s nose as his brother bends over him.

“Good. Now secure Sam in the four point restraints.”

Listening to the scuff of Dean’s boots on the tiles, Sam doesn’t jump when calloused fingers reach out to secure his left wrist in its padded cuff. Dean’s hands work quickly and efficiently, his skin rough against the vulnerable softness of Sam’s wrist; his pulse jumps up to meet the bite of leather. Dean works in a quick circle, cuffing his left ankle next and right ankle, finishing with his right wrist.

The final cuff tightens around his wrist, the soft rasp of leather through leather pulls snug, and Sam thinks Dean’s just going to back straight off until he has more orders. A moment of animal panic, where Sam’s breathing picks up and he’s truly scared that the two of them are just going to walk off and leave him there nearly overwhelms him; but what Dean does is take a moment to circle his thumb against the skin just on the inside of Sam’s forearm. 

Sam can sense Dean’s body where it cuts through the stale air off to his side; the heat and solid warmth of his presence reassuring. It calms him enough to hear the creak and slide of drawers opening and closing mixing in with Dean’s retreating footsteps as he lets go of Sam's last cuff.

“Fine work. Take these and cut away his shirt.” Cas’s voice is low and sure, rumbling and implacable.

Senses heightened, Sam can hear Dean swallow at the soft sound of metal hitting his palm and the incremental intake of breath his brother makes. A frown creases Sam’s brow at that. One of Dean’s hands go to Sam’s right wrist again and pulls at his plaid shirt. Cold steel touches his skin and Sam tries not to flinch; his nipples start to get hard and he squirms a little. The metal starts to glide along Sam’s skin with Dean’s hand, snip-snip-snip, scissors slicing through Sam’s shirt, sure as any time his older brother has tended him in an emergency. 

Dean is being so careful. 

Sam can feel his heartbeat ratcheting up; he knows Dean’s not going to do anything bad, but a mixture of anticipation and fear froths up inside of Sam, like he’s a soda can getting shaken with each snip.

The methodical work continues until one side of the shirt has been freed and then Dean starts cutting up the other arm. _Glad I’m not sentimental about this shirt_ , Sam thinks and then finds his breath hitching when Dean hovers by his face a little longer than he did previously. 

He can smell Dean again; a little sweat is mixed in this time, and Sam can’t begin to imagine the expression on his face.

“Good. Strip him down for me, Dean,” Castiel commands.

Fingers pull at the ruined fabric and then Dean’s fingers are brushing against Sam’s arms and chest as the remains of the shirt are moved away, exposing him to both Dean and Cas. Sam can feel his nipples fully harden in the cool air of the infirmary and he bites his bottom lip a little.

Sam hears a faint rustle and a soft, bitten-off gasp; his brain comes up with Castiel kissing Dean slowly and deliberately, cupping his brother’s burgeoning erection through his jeans. Castiel’s voice is muffled, likely against Dean’s lips. “Cut off Sam’s jeans and underwear.”

Sam can’t help his sharp intake of breath the moment he feels the scissors against his right hip bone. Snip. Snip. Snip. The cold metal is worked down his left leg more slowly than what happened with his shirt. Sam’s not sure if Dean’s feeling nervous or wants to take his time. The scissors reach the end of Sam’s right leg and Sam listens to Dean’s boots take him to the other side of the table.

Cold metal pauses against Sam’s left hip bone and then the snip, snip, snip returns.This last pant leg is the final barrier between Sam and Dean. Sam swallows, _is Dean trembling?_ The movement of the scissors falters for a moment, just below Sam’s knee, but then they pick up again and reach the end of the leg.

“Good. Now, bare all of him to us.” Castiel orders.

When Dean had tortured souls on the rack, it had been a lot like this at the beginning— Alistair ordering him around until he started to get creative, started improvising. _Does Cas remember me doing this? Did he see it in my memory?_

Dean’s fingers the seam he’d cut away on Sam’s pants, and takes a shuddering breath. _I can do this. I can. I can’t let them down._ He grabs a fistful of fabric and trembles. Cas walks over to him, a solid warmth at his back; he presses an open-mouthed, soft kiss to Dean’s neck and then rests his head on Dean’s shoulder. 

His hand rests overtop of Dean’s, fingers curling underneath his palm. The elder Winchester stops trembling, and together, he and the angel pull away his little brother’s now tattered clothing.

“Lift your ass, Sam,” is out of his mouth unchecked, and then his little brother is obeying, thrusting his hips slightly into the air so they can pull the rest of the rags from underneath Sam.

“Good, that’s real good.” Dean takes a breath and stares down at his little brother’s vulnerable and exposed flesh.

“You’re doing so well, Dean,” Castiel whispers into his ear, causing him to shudder. “Now look at him; really look.”

Sam can feel the heavy weight of their dual regard, but says nothing; he’s starting to get goosebumps from the cooling air. His nipples are hard nubs, and he’s got at least a semi going on— but Dean doesn’t stop at that point of interest; he obeys. 

Miles of long limbs, huge hands, powerful muscles; a broad expanse of chest like on the cover of a trashy romance novel; a hot narrow taper to his waist, forming a v-shape that usually only happens with younger guys; a six-pack going slightly soft, but still lean, framed by prominent hip-bones. Objectively, his brother is hot. He knew that, but…

Blushing a little, Dean follows the wispy treasure-trail back up Sam’s body and looks at his familiar, dearly loved, and stupid vulpine facial features; his wide mouth emphasized from being obscured by the blue tie wrapped around his eyes. His girly-ass hair is tumbled around him in a halo, and Dean blinks, tumbling the tattered fabric in his arms the same way he’d done to his jacket earlier; he makes a little pillow of it.

“Raise your head, Sammy.” Sam complies and Dean slides the make-shift pillow under; unable to help himself he drops a kiss on the kid’s forehead.

“Do you like what you see, Dean?”

Dean looks over, but he can’t quite meet Cas’s eyes. “Y-yeah.”

“Look me in the eyes when you answer me.”

Dean swallows and straightens up, shoulders going a little stiff. “Yes, Cas.”

The angel’s stare is intense. “Tell me plainly, what do you see before you?”

“My… my little brother. Mostly healthy and in one piece.”

“And what do you feel, seeing him laid bare, willingly showing all of himself to you?”

Forcing himself to meet Castiel’s gaze, he can’t help his eyes dipping away to take in Sam for a moment. “The most important person in the world is asking me for something.”

Sam gasps quietly, slightly shocked by the blunt admission. Castiel smiles softly at Dean.

“He’s getting cold, Dean. Warm him up.”

“A-alright Cas.” Dean starts rubbing the goosebumps out of Sam’s skin, brisk rubs meant to warm him up— only, the more he rubs, the more gooseflesh appears. Sweat slicks Dean’s palms as he rubs at Sam’s thigh, enjoying the feeling of the hairs going against the grain. Sam is getting harder, twitching a little now. Dean’s face goes hot. _I’m not sure I drank enough for this._

Dean risks a look up at Castiel; the angel is watching him darkly from the Sam’s head, pupils large despite the harsh lighting in the infirmary. “Very good, Dean. You’re doing an excellent job.” Cas wraps a possessive hand around Sam’s jaw, pushing a finger in.

“Suck, Sam.”

Cas’s long, slender finger disappears up to the second knuckle between Sam’s lips and Dean groans a little, a full body shudder wringing him again.

“Are you warm?”

“Hot,” Sam mumbles. “Your hands feel really good, Dean…”

Dean looks down at where his hand is splayed across Sam’s thigh; palm fit to the hollow just before his ass and thumb-nail scratching along the line of his pubic mound and startles, guiltily. _It’s okay… I gotta remember this is okay. Cas wouldn’t…_ Cas’s stare burns into Dean’s soul, leaving him feeling more exposed than his bound and naked sibling on the metal table. 

Dean swallows thickly. _He wouldn’t tell me to do anything Sam doesn’t like. Just gotta trust Cas. And Hell, it’s not like Sam is gagged—_ as Dean watches, Cas withdraws his finger slightly, and Sam swirls his tongue out around the tip, making Dean’s hair stand on end at the sight.

“Do you understand, Dean? _He likes it_. Your little brother loves your strong, _capable_ hands…”

Dean makes sure to meet Cas’s eyes. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Run your hands slowly all over his body.”

“Okay.” Dean skims Sam’s thigh as he takes his hand away, and then he starts down at his knee, stroking slowly down Sam’s calves. Sam doesn’t tense up; he seems to melt at the touch with a sharp little intake of breath that Dean’s hind-brain really,  _really_ likes. 

Running his hands alongside the calves, he sweeps up in a long arch, following Sam’s thighs to up over his hips. Dean pauses there for a moment, wetting his lips, just taking it in: Sam getting sweaty underneath him, dick erect, abdomen tensed, long column of throat exposed, head tipped back, mouth teasing Castiel’s finger; Castiel staring at Dean steadily, a constant reassurance that this is right and okay.

Sam trembles as Dean skates his hands up over Sam’s six-pack, and then slowly trails his fingers down along his ribs, tracing them with just enough pressure that it doesn’t tickle. A flash of movement catches his eye; the metal of the cuff winks in the harsh white light as Sam starts to strain against his bonds.

“ _Dean_ —” Sam gasps.

“Don’t mind me, Sammy, just followin’ orders.” Dean smirks and tweaks one of Sam’s nipples; the kid reacts like he just got hit with a live wire. He arches and bows his neck beautifully, and Dean’s mouth goes dry with desire. Just like that. 

All of a sudden, he’s very aware that this is a grown-ass _beautiful man_ , that wants to have sex with him. Him and his hot-ass angel. The elder Winchester takes a steadying breath, feeling slightly dizzy. Okay, he’s not you know, _gay_ , but it’s _Sam_ , and Cas isn’t even human, so shut up.

“You may resume,” Cas says, arching an eyebrow. His smile is fond, however. One of his hands is carding through Sam’s hair, while the other continues to tease his mouth.

“Yessir.” Dean gently strokes his palms up, over Sam’s pecs before smoothing them down over his shoulders. Dean feels the sheer power in the limbs; down his biceps, over his corded forearms, and back up over his taut triceps as Sam strains against his bonds. 

On impulse, Dean drops down and captures one of those perky nipples in his mouth. He rasps his tongue over it and sucks a little; Sam lets out a stuttering sigh. He rasps his tongue over it and sucks a little. Cas’s hand drops to the back of his neck and curls through the short hair there, causing Dean to startle a little.

“You’re doing so very well.” Cas’s rumbles, and it feels like velcro rubbing Dean’s skin. “You deserve a reward.”

Dean looks up, cautiously optimistic. “Yeah?”

“Oh yes, I believe so.” Cas unties Sam’s make-shift blindfold, and advances on Dean. The front of his slacks are clearly tented. 

Dean shudders, more aroused than he’d like to admit. Cas kisses him then, cold and dry while Dean burns beneath him. Dean rubs up against Cas, trying not to let undignified noises come out of him. After a few moments of hot, wet kissing where Cas’s mouth has warmed up and become pliant, Cas rests his forehead on Dean’s and slowly unbuttons his shirt. He looms huge in the forefront of Dean’s vision; the omnipresent hint of ozone that hangs around Cas like lightning about to strike intensifies.

“Cas,” Dean breathes into the scant space between their mouths. Cas flips him around then, biting gently at his neck and sliding his hands up Dean’s chest.

“Look at Sam.”

Sam’s eyes are wild, there’s a line of color streaking across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, flushed red. _It’s, it’s really fucking hot actually_ , seeing Sam lose his shit like this. Cas plays with his nipples, smoothing the pad of his thumb over them and Dean’s eyes flutter shut for a moment. _This is really happening_. 

Dean shrugs out of his shirt and Cas draws it off of him, down over his arms. The angel, _dirty sneaky bastard he is_ , swiftly captures Dean’s hands and binds him with the shirt. Dean’s heart skips a beat. _Ooh please. Yes, Cas._

“I will do to you what you do to Sam, if you please us both sufficiently. Do you understand?” Cas’s mouth is hot on the side of his neck, breath puffing over the shell of Dean’s ear.

“Go along to get along. Yeah, got it…”

Cas comes in front of him, dropping his wrists for a moment to cup his jaw and look directly into his eyes. “What you wish to have from me, you must take from Sam. _Do you understand?_ ”

“I—Jesus. Yes, Cas.”

“Do not blaspheme. Now…” Cas steps away. “Climb between your brother’s legs.”

It’s a little awkward, with his hands bound, but Cas helps him up onto the table, and soon enough he’s crouched over, looking up at Sam. Sam’s eyes once again can’t seem to settle on a damn color; but whatever it is, blue, brown, Dean doesn’t know, it’s dark with desire.

“Cas… why did you bind Dean’s hands?”

“So he can’t use them.”

“...Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to to come from this alone.”

The back of Dean’s neck and the tips of his ears, hell the entirety of his face is on fire, and Sam gasps and bucks a little; Dean sees a bead of precome leak out of his brother’s dick. He swallows and licks his lips. He tenses all over, waiting for the word. For the okay.

Cas’s hand is holding his wrists, the other is in Dean’s hair. “Take him into your mouth, Dean.”

Dean shudders, remembering the last time this happened. _But this is okay. I’m not being forced. I can— I can do this at my own pace. I can **do** this._ The stretch and burn of his chest muscles from having his arms behind his back is a welcome distraction that allows Dean to get on with the job. He is really not thinking about bobbing for apples. _Nope_. 

Cas’s touch soothes him, he arches into the petting and licks his lips again, slowly bending forward. He kisses a line slowly up Sam’s dick, pausing to suck at the slightly spongy area where the head and shaft meet. It’s awkward and really putting his stomach muscles to work, but Dean really likes it. His dick sure does too, because boy are his jeans starting to chafe. His chest flushes as he remembers, _Cas said he will do exactly this to me_.

Working up his courage, Dean licks around the head, chasing the bit of precome that’s wetting Sam’s dick before slowly closing his mouth around the head. Sam gasps and swears, and if he had even a little slack with the cuffs his stomach would’ve banged Dean plain in the nose.

 _This isn’t so bad. I just… I gotta step up my game if I want Cas to really go to town on me. Gotta go for it._ Dean hesitates a moment longer, then dives down, taking as much of Sam’s length into his mouth as possible. He drools, wet and sloppy on the way down, then sucks, hot and tight on the way back up, swirling his tongue. 

It had been a matter of academic interest and a personal hobby, to teach girls how to go down on him the best. He’s only following his own advice right now. It’s working in his favor, because the low growls it’s dragging out of Sam as he goes nuts, struggling against his bonds, _is so freaking worth it._

Cas’s hand feels _amazing_ in his hair, a constant reassurance that he’s doing a good job, that this is okay. It’s only a couple of moments of this and Sam swearing later before his— no, _their_ — angel starts giving him more of that verbal encouragement that’s steadied his hands and felt like manna from Heaven.

“Oh _Dean_ , you look so damn _hot_ — if only you could see yourself, beautiful plush lips stretched wide around your brother’s considerable girth— oh you are taking it so well, and I can barely wait— if seeing you straining forward to pleasure Sam wasn’t so hot, if feeling your silky hair as your head moves beneath my hand, on him, wasn’t so arousing, I would be touching myself right now. I’m making a mess in my pants Dean, and it’s because of _you_.”

Sam’s cock twitches and pulses in his mouth as he swears loudly and calls for Cas and for his brother. Dean struggles to breathe, vision going hazy, fuzzy around the edges, and all he can find himself doing in response is working harder on wringing gasps and swears out of Sam as he feels his baby brother buck and strain beneath him. 

His eyes slid shut at some point, and all he can feel is the wonderful satiny slide of hot flesh in his mouth; all he can smell is sweat, sex, and _Sam_ ; all he can taste is sweat with a musky, nearly iron after-taste as Sam leaks in his mouth.

Dean feels a wet patch starting to form where his dick is struggling against the confines of his pants, and his inner monologue is reduced to a constant stream of _Cas, Sam, fuck, Jesus, God, yes_. His arms burn, his jaw aches, his chest is so tight he can barely breathe, and he loves every fucking second of it. He pulls off of Sam and takes a break, panting heavily.

Cas’s voice is ruined, like he’s just run a marathon and smoked an entire carton of cigarettes. “What do you _want_ , Dean?”

Dean makes a snap decision based on his positioning, and the idea of making an _angel_ , of making solemn-faced formerly innocent _Castiel_ do that is so dirty and hot it comes tumbling straight out of his mouth without a filter, sounding choked and bitten off. “Eat my ass out like a girl, Cas. Get up in here and get me ready to fuck.” 

Because out of nowhere, Dean wants it so badly he can taste it, he never thought he’d want things to go this far, but he wants all of Cas, surrounding him and filling him up, anchoring him while he does the same to Sam— while he shows his little brother that he’s not going anywhere, and finally, _finally, it can feel true for Cas, too_.

Cas and Sam both groan, Sam’s cock leaking out with a little jump in front of Dean’s face.

Dean looks up at Cas, and they haven’t even lain a hand on him, but damn if the guy doesn’t look like he’s already messed up from sexy-time. A long, impenetrable silence descends between them as they stare into each-other’s eyes, broken when they wet their lips simultaneously.

Then Cas says, “You know what you must do.”

Sam gasps, and Dean looks up at him, seeing his little brother biting and sucking on his lips, forehead screwed up with repressed desire as he strains at his bonds. All that power, all that drive to fight, the blazing desire heating his skin and burning him alive—all Dean’s for the taking. Sam _here_ , and alive, blessedly alive.

“ _Dean_ ,” he whines. “ _Please._ ”

Dean lets out a shuddering breath and swallows. “Okay. Okay... I got you, Sam.” 

Cas unwinds Dean’s shirt from his wrists, and they tingle a little, sensation returning with increased blood-flow. Dean flexes his fingers, rubs at his wrists, then slinks down, lowering himself until he’s on all fours. 

“Scooch down, Sammy. Make a y-shape with your arms.” Sam, miracle of miracles, obeys, and Dean uses the slack to push up on his thighs, exposing his ass to the air. He nuzzles for a moment at Sam’s drawn, heavy ballsack and perineum, teasing.

“ _Dean, I swear to God_ —”

“Hush, Sammy,” Dean husks, taking in the stronger scent of Sam and sweat down there, gently rubbing the tip of his nose over the hole to Sam’s shocked gasp. Suddenly, hands are at Dean’s belt and it shocks him out of his hypnotized revere. 

_Cas is taking off my pants. Oh, thank fucking God._ Cas’s hands slide up over the small of his back and then down over his hips, and Dean raises one knee at a time to help out as his jeans and boxers are pulled off. 

Dean’s junk is suddenly swinging free in the open air, heavy between his thighs. He only has an instant to take this in, as Cas’s delicate long fingered, clever hands are wrapping around his hard-on, jerking Dean slowly. Dean shudders all over, biting down on the soft meat under Sam’s thigh and moaning into it.

“Couldn’t help it Dean, had to touch you, so beautiful—Father’s finest work, you and your brother—oh you feel so good, hard and weeping in my hand.” Cas rubs the flat of his palm across the top of Dean’s dick, smearing the fluid around, and Dean bucks and gasps.

“Oh God, _Cas_ —” Dean shudders, reveling in the sensation for a moment, then he tightens his jaw and sighs, nostrils flaring with determination. “You want it, Sammy? You want your big brother’s tongue up your ass, my fingers, my cock?”

“ _Yes, oh Jesus, **yes** ,_ made for me, Dean, belong to me, you belong **_in me_**. _Please, please_ , I can’t fucking _take it!_ ” Sam stares down at him through the v of his thighs, cock heavy and leaking on his stomach, flushed and trembling, eyes wet. 

It gives Dean the most awful kind of vindictive thrill, to have unraveled his logical, no-nonsense, cold dom of a brother like this. Between the begging and Cas jerking his dick in earnest, slow hard strokes, Dean nearly comes.

“Yeah. Okay.” Dean swallows and circles Sam’s hole with the pad of his thumb before kissing a line down his ass, down to his tailbone. He rubs gently before planting a soft kiss directly on the flushed bud of Sam’s hole. “Imma’ fuck you with my tongue now.”

Sam squirms, thighs going tense as Dean slowly, deliberately presses his tongue into Sam’s entrance. His little brother lets out a startled gasp, starts to shake with pleasure as Dean slowly pushes his tongue in and out. 

Cas’s hand leaves his cock, and both of his hands slide down to Dean’s hips; just like that, their angel is diving straight in, hot sloppy kisses on the sensitive pucker of Dean’s ass, where only a few girls had gone before and where he’d barely half-imagined Cas would ever go in his most tightly held fantasies. Cas’s mouth feels wet and cool, and it drives Dean wild; he attacks Sam’s ass, fucking his tongue in and out as hard and deep as it’ll go while Cas does the same to Dean.

Dean spares a thought for Cas as he moans, arms trembling as he barely keeps himself upright. _All this time, and neither of us has laid a hand on him. Patience of a fucking saint. I want to make this good for Sam, but I **really, really** want to make this good for Cas…_ Dean feels a cold drizzle of lube on his crack and whines at the implications. _Guess Cas has got his own ideas._

Holding out his hand for lube, Dean is obliged. He flutters kisses around Sam’s rim while he rubs his fingers together, coating them before going straight to pushing two fingers in. Sam freaking _keens_ and if his ankles weren’t still strapped down, he probably would’ve bolted straight off the table. “Mmm, yeah, like that, don’t you Sammy?”

“ _Dean_ ,” his little brother cries, seemingly having forgotten any other words. Dean’s lips curve in a dark smile, and he tries to push his tongue in alongside his fingers. Well, for about two seconds, before he freezes and shakes a little, vibrating with tension as Cas slips a digit into his ass.

“Tell me you want this, Dean. Tell me you want _me_ ,” Cas growls into his ear. His hand leaves Dean’s _on fire_ erection. Dean straightens up from where Sam is squirming beneath him and pushes up one-handed, tilting his head over his shoulder to meet Castiel’s kerosene-blue flame eyes.

“More than anything, baby,” Dean whispers hoarsely, breaking the angel’s gaze to shudder, pressing his teeth together to contain the noise rising up from high in his throat.

Castiel strokes a soothing hand through his hair, before the motion turns into a grip. He bares Dean’s throat and attacks it with his mouth, using teeth and bruising force of his lips to stake a claim. 

Dean chokes and nearly blows his load right then and there, untouched dick or no. Cas’s finger is still in him, and a second joins the first as he searches relentlessly for Dean’s prostate. They score home and Dean freaking yelps, thrumming like a plucked string.

“Very good, Dean. Now look at Sam.”

Dean forces his eyes open and gazes down at his brother, who has flared his nostrils and is squirming like he could wear a hole into the metal and escape if only he tries hard enough. He’s sliding around a little in his own sweat, despite the makeshift pillow Dean made for him.

Cas’s voice is a low roll of thunder filling Dean’s ears. “Tell Sam how badly you want him.”

Dean falters. “Can’t I… can’t I just show him, Cas?”

Sam’s eyes glitter, his sweaty chest heaving. His eyes slide to half-shut and he chews on his lip, brows knitting together. The vulnerability, the _fear_ is all too evident… Dean darts a glance down and sees the tire-iron his baby brother has been hiding from him getting smaller, and that’s answer enough, even before Cas says: “No.”

Sam echoes it softly, “No.”

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Dean takes a breath and then swallows. “Sam… this ain’t easy to admit, being your big brother. Even uh, buzzed and with a smoking hot angel working me open. Knowing um….” Dean gulps and squeezes his eyes shut. _Knowing all I gotta do is get this out and I’m gonna fuck and be fucked within an inch of my goddamn life._

Cas continues moving his fingers in and out of him slowly, and Dean feels Sam clenching around his fingers, almost like the world’s most fucked up version of a reassuring squeeze. A small laugh tips out of him at the thought, and with it the rest just falls out of his mouth: “I want you _so fucking bad_ , baby boy.”

Dean opens his eyes and takes in Sam spasming beneath him, sees the kid bite clean through his bottom lip and draw blood. Dean sucks in a breath and continues. “I’m not sure I’ve _ever_ been this goddamn hard. Seeing you fall to fucking pieces is doing me in. Seeing you beg for me, hearing you call my name like that—”  
Dean twists his fingers inside of Sam, reaches slow and deep as he ruthlessly jabs in and out. “—I _love_ it. Can you beg for me, Sammy? Beg me nice and pretty for your big brother to put his hard dick in you?”

“Oh God, Dean, _**please**_ fuck me De, I’m gonna goddamn _**die**_.”

All the breath is punched straight out of his lungs, and Dean slides down, wrapping an arm around the back of Sam’s thigh. Taking advantage of Sam’s strength, Dean drops a trail of slow, wet kisses down the trembling muscles of Sam’s other thigh, then leverages up to kiss Sam’s mouth. 

Licking in, he then swipes his tongue over and over on Sam’s bottom lip, teasing the blood out. Sam groans into his mouth, and his tongue wrestles Dean’s out of the way. Dean takes the hint and lets Sam bite down; they exchange blood in a way that feels strangely final, igniting a low humming through Dean’s veins that sets his nerves alight. 

_Mine_ , Dean thinks in stunned disbelief. An ache in his chest nearly makes his eyes tear up before a thought floats to the surface with the feeling of Cas’s hand gliding through his hair and fortifies him: _Ours._

Dean backs up and looks down at Sam, feeling surrounded by love and want, belonging, in the first time since he can really remember. “Cas, can you free Sam’s ankles?”

“Of course.” Cas’s hands leave both his head and his ass, and Dean barely suppresses a whine. Dean doesn’t take his eyes off of Sam’s. The stare between them could match any he and Cas have ever had. The long seconds of waiting end and Dean feels Cas’s lips on his neck, one arm snaking around his body to hold Dean at the base, stroking slowly up and coating his cock in lubricant.

Dean gasps. “Cas— Christ,” this earns him a sharp nip, causing him to swear again— “Does Sam just, pass on this _magician_ thing to everyone he sleeps with? Holy fff—” A huffed laugh is hot against the side of his neck.

“ _Dean— dying. C’mon!_ ”

“A-alright. Gotcha’ Sammy. You begged me so nice and all.” Dean presses Sam’s legs up with both hands and leans forward as Cas guides his cock to his brother’s hole. Slowly bearing down, he feels the stretch and _unbelievable tightness_ as he breaches Sam’s rim. 

They both groan, Dean’s mouth slowly coming closer and closer to Sam’s as he bends the younger Winchester nearly in half while sinking further in.

The initial widening tapers off with Dean’s length, and then it’s just a smooth slow slide into that hot velvet. “Oooh. Oh God, Sam—” the siblings groan into each-other’s mouths, savoring the sensations. “So good, so fucking good, Sammy, _damn_ —”

“De,” Sam cries the childish nickname against his lips, starts grinding as much as he can beneath him. “Always, _always_ , I—I knew—”

Dean can’t bear it any more—the tenderness, need, and vulnerability radiating off of Sam—so he does his best to kiss him senseless, swallow his cries; Cas’s hand, still gripping him at the base continues to ground him but then it’s gone.

“Dean?” Cas intones.

“Do it.” Between frantic kisses and licking at Sam’s mouth, Dean feels the angel’s hands skimming his back before his fingers curl up, knuckles at the nape of Dean’s neck.

“Tell me.”

“Fuck me, angel. Nice and slow. Need you here, with us.” Dean shudders all over. 

Part of him wishes this had gone a little differently— where he’d gotten to explore the angel methodically, map all of him out with his hands and mouth, that it wasn’t going straight to Cas doing something to _him_ , again— but there’d be time for that later. The thing now was to bind the three of them together. 

It’s a small part, however; most of Dean is consumed by the illicit act he’s engaged in with his blood, and the anticipation of being _surrounded_ by Cas, feeling him there and unable/unwilling to leave in a way he has never been before.

Dean hears Cas gasp, and _swears_ he hears something almost like the muted flap of wings, just at the edge of hearing.

“As you wish.”

 _I’m not sure what I wish really matters. What I want though… I don’t think I’ve wanted anything more than here and now._ Sam burns beneath him, writhing, and Dean arches up, kissing the sweat off of his forehead as he waits, giving short thrusts that don’t move him much, just barely holding it together.

There’s no denying the beauty stretched out before Cas. A part of him is wondering quite how things managed to contort and conspire together in this way. Especially after his initial certainty that this part of him was just for Sam. 

The feeling of power from having Dean obey him is intoxicating. Every hair on his vessel’s body has stood on end, and he can feel his broken wings struggling to beat behind him, torn between the urge to mantle them both and beat the air in a display of dominance.

This will be Cas’s second time putting part of himself inside another, but this time instead of it being a lowering of defenses, it’s a display of power; the feeling of being a key in a lock. This is nothing like when Sam rips control away from him. 

He is keenly aware of the slowed, shortened stuttering of Dean’s hips; that the elder Winchester is making himself an easier target for Cas to hit. A feeling that has more in common with joy in cruelty than love curls in his gut as he watches the first man he pulled from Hell grind into the second, open and waiting, defenses not lowered, but thrown away with giddying abandon.

As he coats his diamond-hard leaking erection with lubricant, Cas’s voice is gravelly, harsh with desire. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Dean gasps and shudders, unwilling to beg further without being commanded to. And so Cas lines himself up and pushes in; it’s not so easy, he slips to one side and has to try again, slower. Dean continues to swear, and whimpers beneath him while Sam’s harsh panting rings in the air.

“Cas… oh God, Cas, I can feel you— I can feel you pushing Dean into me, oh my God—” Sam gibbers.

Dean is silent on top of Sam, shaking. He stills and pulses, and that’s enough; Cas manages to breach the ring of muscle at Dean’s hole. With a streak he had no idea ran through him, Cas keeps pushing through, giving himself no time to savor the sensation, discarding Dean’s bitten off curse in favor of claiming the righteous man completely.

Desperation claws up his chest to the beat of Dean’s soft curses as he grabs the hunter’s hips hard enough to bruise, fingers livid white bands. Something powerful snaps into place and it’s as if a flood has been loosed; Cas is driving his hips into Dean over and over, slamming him down harder and harder into Sam, fucking his Sam _through Dean_ , his brother a puppet for the elemental force of the angel’s desire. A feeling of possessiveness is shooting adrenaline and need through Cas, the other two have infected him with it, and the angel blasphemes and praises the creator in the same breath.

“Feels so good, feels so good, oh my God, Dean, Cas— wish I could see you, Cas, shit if you could see Dean’s face right now—” Sam is cheering them both on from the bottom as he writhes, with what little air he has available from the combined weight of his brother and their angel.

Dean groans, a conduit for their desire, being pushed and pulled between them both in a way that smacks of poetic irony. “S’good Cas. Don’t care it hurts. Feels so goddamn good. Sammy, you feel so damn amazing too, fuck, caught between you both— I don’t—” Dean is reduced to helpless panting, leaning his forehead against Sam’s.

In spite of Cas’s brush with humanity, the borrowed grace leaves his mind partially torn between the act and how damningly pleasurable it feels, and the million thoughts he’s yet to voice to either brother. _There’s so little that has passed between Dean and I, all these years, beyond that encouraged by the bonds of friendship and the push of destiny.  
I haven’t even “bought him a drink” and I am with him now in a way I have not been with even Sam. I can’t compare this to my time with April, either. That had nothing to do with gender and everything to do with how she was a stranger and I had nowhere else to turn for the night._

Cas suddenly realizes he’s been too quiet, when he hears Dean swallow and a drop in volume, like the brothers are tamping down on the loudness of their pleasure. Dean looks over his shoulder back at Cas.

“C-Cas, you with us, man?” Dean’s left hand covers Cas’s where it lies on his hip, and Cas lets out a shuddering breath.

“Yes.” Cas twines his left fingers into Dean’s, relaxes his grip and bends down to drop a kiss between his shoulder blades. The slight lean forward pushes Cas further into Dean, which in turn pushes Dean deeper into Sam. All three of them groan.

“When… when we’ve finished what… whatever _this_ is right now, other than **awesome** , I’m gonna make love to you, Cas. As corny and dopey as that sounds, I swear to God.” Dean says this quietly, almost like he’s afraid to let the words into the air, for fear they’ll get swallowed up by something terrible.

The seraph hears the fragility, the vulnerability in Dean’s soft-spoken promise and something in his gut rings with the hollow ache of a need still unsated. Cas wants to experience that with Dean, the culmination of the promise in the kisses they’ve shared, knows he needs to; but Sam, whom he chose first, has yet to share himself that way with Cas. He’s not even made love with Sam first, the one who helped pull the three of them together, and Cas is in the dark about the etiquette of keeping everyone happy. Together, they’ll make it work.

“Shhh… it’s alright. I promise.” Cas strokes Dean’s right hip with his free hand, squeezes gently on the hunter’s left hand.

“You feel so good, it’s fucking incredible. I had— I had no damn idea—” Dean moans, returning his attention back to Sam, licking around the sides of his brother’s mouth. “And you, baby boy… what a tight ass you have. Mother of God.”

Sam catches Dean’s mouth and seals their mouths together, and slowly, the three of them find a rhythm together, the circuit snapping shut and binding the three of them. 

Castiel feels sweat slide down Dean’s back and slowly start to coat his chest; the intensity grows and rivulets of sweat are dripping down his thighs. Balls audibly slap into two sets of asses as they pound into each-other.

“You like that, Dean? You like being full of my cock while I use you like a toy to fuck your little brother?” Cas growls, chasing a trail of sweat down one shoulder blade with his tongue.

“Oh ff—”

Cas feels Dean spasm around him without warning, feels Sam lurch up and swallow Dean’s cries; hears them moan into each-other’s mouths and the wet slide of skin. Cas’s eyes roll up in his head with a string of Enochian falling from his lips as Dean tightens up around him; he floats a little, de-tethering slightly from his vessel as black spots consume his vision. Through a supreme force of will, he holds off the unfamiliar sensation of orgasm until Dean is just slowly grinding on top of Sam, boneless and whimpering with over-sensitivity. More than anything, Castiel is hidebound with determination to finish off Sam; to slide into his lover with the way eased by his brother’s ejaculate and make his own claim.

“C-Cas, please man…”

Cas withdraws from Dean to the latter’s hiss, and eases down, off the examination table to wait. He takes in the brothers’ sweaty, tousled hair, the sheen of sweat on their skin, the lovely contrast between the two and feels mania welling up inside him again, where it had been formerly gentled by Dean’s concern. _I did this_.

Dean withdraws from Sam, sitting back on his heels. Cas gets a really good look at the trail of pre-come shining on their stomachs, of the weeping red, nearly purpled, head of Sam’s cock.

“Aww damn, Sammy, I didn’t—” Dean chews on his lip. “I’m good at this, I swear. I’ll show you next time. Let me make it up to you.”

Sam chuckles, despite his trembling, and Cas feels his heart-beat stutter.

“Shhh.” Cas cups either side of Dean’s face and leans in, chasing the taste of Sam. The angel and the elder Winchester share a kiss that’s all the slow glide of lips and tongue, Dean dazed post-orgasm and trembling.

The kiss breaks and Dean pants softly, palming Cas’s erection.

Cas looks over to where Sam is still cuffed and on his back, spread out like something one of the Italian masters would’ve painted. “It’s alright. You were waiting for me, weren’t you Sam?”

Sam shudders, looks away, shy. “Yes, Cas.”

Cas smiles, open-mouthed, showing teeth. “You’re so _perfect_ , Sam… Dean, stay. Sit over there.” He points to a nearby chair with leather padding, probably an ancient dentist’s chair.

Dean nods, expression unreadable. If he weren’t so thoroughly _fucked out_ , he would be more excited about watching live porn. As it was, he was going to store this in his mental spank-bank and drink some water. He hunts around a moment for a bottle and finds one; twists the cap off and settles in, getting a good view.

Cas steps back over to the examination table. Sam sits up more, wrists straining against the cuffs. He looks up at the angel, pupils dilated too wide, dark hazel irises stretched thin in the harsh white glare. His long lean body forms an x as he lies; his pecs, biceps, and shoulders are taut like a predatory animal dying to rip into its prey.

“Let me go.” Sam’s voice takes a darker edge, rough from kissing and need. No longer does he beg. Despite ordering Dean and controlling the scene for so long, Cas bends to obey.

First, Cas frees Sam’s right wrist. The second it’s uncuffed Sam grabs at Cas’s face and pulls him in—lips hungrily pressing to his lover’s, tongue thrusting into his mouth, stubble rubbing at his skin.

Booze, Dean and Sam flick across Castiel’s palette again and his own need to satiate his desire escalates. His infinite patience evaporates like dew hit by the morning sun as Sam pulls away, panting. The angel scrambles to undo the final cuff; the leather slides warm through his hands, falling away from his prone lover.

There’s this briefest moment of calm, their breaths streaking over each other’s bare skin as Cas hovers, hands frozen in place over where the final restraint had cuffed Sam. Their eyes lock as Dean looks on, heart in his mouth. He swallows down hard and forces himself to keep watching, the tension making him break into a cold sweat.

Sam says, “Need you.” A flat statement that barely scratches the surface; an immutable truth of the low-grade ache he feels constantly now, like a sore tooth or the need to check salt-lines.

Climbing off of the table, Sam suppresses a shiver as his feet touch down on the cold floor tiles. He sneaks a glance at Dean, who’s watching with dazed interest (looking like he just ran through a very lewd obstacle course), and quirks his brother a smile.

But looking away from Cas is like having his head pulling against a rubber band and his focus snaps back to take him in—his vessel’s reddened lips, sex-flushed chest; skin dewy with sweat, messy hair curling with it; and his glistening erection jutting at a slight angle against one tan thigh, balls hanging low and heavy underneath—Sam advances on the angel and pushes him up against the smooth metal table. The hairs on Sam’s neck stand up with the sensation of his brother’s come slowly leaking out of his hole; he barely represses a groan.

“I can feel your come leaking out of me, Dean. Feel that load you shot deep in me making me sticky and wet.” 

Dean makes a strangled sound and Sam grins as he hooks his right hand around the back of Castiel’s neck and brings him in for another kiss, fingers playing in the thick hair curling at the nape. 

Cas’s pliant mouth opens and Sam dives in, licking and sucking eager and wanting. Cas moans into Sam’s mouth as their hips rub against each other, the tease of flesh tantalizing and exquisite, and the younger Winchester knows they can’t go on without more. The kiss breaks as Sam withdraws with a stuttering inhale.

“Need you inside me, Cas. Need your come to mix inside me with Dean’s.” Sam hears his brother gasp behind them, and switches to the left side of Cas’s neck, biting down hard for a moment, almost enough pressure to draw blood. He pulls his mouth away, teeth leaving indentations behind in their wake, and smirks at Cas.

“You gonna do that for me? You gonna chase my brother’s come out of me with your dick, push it out as you fuck me, replace it with your own?” The angel’s vessel is panting and Sam enjoys how just a few simple actions and words are turning the situation around. 

Sam glances over at Dean and gets an eyeful of his brother chewing on his lower lip, pupils blown, cock in hand. Naked as the day he was born, adorned with sweat, high points of colour in his cheeks. Something low and dirty, like the tide bringing seaweed onto the beach, curls through Sam’s gut.

Pulling fully away, barely close enough to feel the heat radiating off of Cas’s skin, Sam points to the table. “Up on there. Lean back on your arms for me.”

Sam flips his head back to Cas and sees he’s in place, legs spread down the table, arms back behind him. Picking up the lube, Sam stands to the side, so Dean can see him freshly coat Cas’s cock. Gripping Cas—hard and warm, in his hand—Sam can’t resist touching himself, and pumps both their cocks in time. Chancing another look at Dean, Sam sees his brother is watching avidly, slowly stroking his half-hard dick.

“Sam…” Cas bucks towards the contact and Sam has to close his eyes a second and breathe. Staring into the pale grey darkness behind his eyelids, he squirts lube into his hand and slowly rubs a finger around his rim.

Opening his eyes, Sam gives Cas a predatory stare; the angel's hair is sticking up in all directions and his lips are plump, the head of his cock swollen, red and glistening. He then climbs up on the table, straddling the angel’s legs. Struggling to breathe, Sam shimmies up his lover’s body and kneels above his erection. 

He braces himself on Cas’s right shoulder as he grips the angel’s dick, meeting his stare. Their eyes lock, icy blue gaze piercing Sam open as he lowers himself onto Cas’s sex. His hole burns only a little with re-entry, stretch made easier by Dean having already fucked into and filled him.

They gasp together as Sam takes Cas into his body; he removes his guiding hand, easing himself down, and savours the stretch like a benediction. Gripping Cas by both shoulders, he bears down until their flesh is flush, hips on cheeks. Sam stays still a moment, breathing, adjusting again, the cold table biting into his knees. Faintly, he hears Dean swear, a low string of guttural curses that somehow brings to mind praying a rosary.

Thrusting up, Sam grabs onto the back of Cas’s neck, and smashes their lips together. He starts rocking his hips as they devour each-other, moans pushed from one set of lips through the other. Hips slide beneath Sam, cooled sweat quickly warming and being replaced as their flesh slides and caresses. 

Eyes fluttering shut a moment, Sam drinks in how different Cas smells to Dean, a different musk and like the air before a storm—inhuman and otherworldly. He hears the litany of gasps between his angel and his brother: call and response devoted to Sam.

Hips pumping and thighs working hard, Sam moves to Cas’s neck and bites down again, hoping he’ll leave a mark that will stay. He laps at the salty sweat that’s gathered there.

“Fuck, Cas, you taste so good,” Sam cries. Sam’s hips shift a little and then Cas is grazing his prostate, making Sam’s balls ache. “And you’re so eager to please, so perfect, able to do whatever I ask. Feel so damn good, too. How do you like that, pushing into Dean’s come, feeling it slide out around us as I fuck you?”

Cas groans, shoulders trembling already with strain. “Yes,” he gasps, arching his neck so Sam can have better access. Sam looks sideways at Dean and smirks wickedly, seeing his brother’s pupils dilate, his hand idly tugging his dick at the base.

“Tell me how it feels, Cas.”

“Completely overwhelming— I, I can feel the ejaculate leaking out of you, coating my shaft and dripping down my sex, Sam. Good Lor—” Cas bites down on his lip, and Sam sees that Dean has gone sloe-eyed, glittering in the harsh light as he drinks water carelessly, noisily, guzzling it so it dribbles from his mouth, down his neck and bare chest.

Seeing Cas unwind in front of him, shaking and red, Sam eagerly returns to Cas’s exposed neck. Sam grips Cas’s neck even harder, lips covering the same bite as before. Taking the willingly given flesh between his front teeth, Sam bears down again, licking and sucking as he does. The angel shakes apart in broken moans, Sam’s hips and thighs working him up and down Cas’s cock. He shifts below Sam, causing Sam to lose hold of Cas’s neck as his wrecked voice cries out. The balance of control between them, with them both so sensitive, is on a fine line.

Pleasure jolts through Sam as his lips find Cas’s again, before he kneels back a touch more. Flesh slapping together, Sam leverages Cas by the right shoulder and reaches his right hand down to stroke himself as he rides his lover. Increasing the distance between them swirls Sam’s own heady musk up to his nose. Cas’s gaze wanders from Sam’s face to his stroking hand. Having Cas look at him while he takes his own pleasure sends a heavy bead of pre-come to Sam’s tip and he rubs it into himself as his hips rock faster against Cas.

“Not gonna hold on much longer, angel. Fucked all nice and open, feeling you deep in me, stroking myself. You gonna come for me, Cas? You gonna lose it when I clench down tight around you?”

Castiel groans, “ _Saaaam._ ”

“Stop teasing the poor guy, Sammy. Fucking do it already. Come for us, baby boy,” Dean says huskily, lazily stroking his half-erection.

It’s enough. Sam shudders all over, helpless to do anything other than grip Cas tight, screaming into his shoulder as his dick jumps and spurts in his hand, jetting fluid between their stomachs. Cas freaking _whimpers_ , making a small, choked off sound, and Sam feels the angel pulsing within him as he clamps down, thighs turned to stone as he shakes.

“Oooh yeah. Fuck yeah. Look at you, you’re so hot, little brother. So fucking wrecked from both of us working you over.” Dean gets up and cards a hand through Sam’s sweaty hair, kissing his forehead with a little smirk.

“The sounds he made… eh, Cas? Can’t wait to try to wring them out of you.” Dean kisses Castiel’s open, gasping mouth; light, teasing butterfly kisses that make the angel tingle a little bit differently than the aftershocks of his orgasm. He gasps and pants a little into the elder Winchester’s mouth.

Sam’s eyes snap open and he growls. Dean pulls his hand away from Sam’s hair and backs off Cas to look down at Sam, eyes wide.

“Lick us both clean, Dean. Do a good job or you won’t get to play with Cas until I deem your penance ended.” Sam watches with dark satisfaction as Dean becomes fully erect. He disentangles from Cas and lies beside him.

The metal exam table had been supremely uncomfortable, but Sam fears he may have developed a Pavlovian response to them that will make their next trip to a morgue distracting, to say the least. His big brother bends to the task.


	34. Chapter 34

Dean wakes up to the smell of bacon frying. The weak light from a bedside table lamp washes a comforter the wrong colour—olive green, over his arm. He’s in bed, naked, not his bed he realizes, the mattress not remembering him one single bit.

Cas is curled up on his side in the middle of Sam’s bed, with Dean, and Sam is nowhere to be seen. _Sam is cooking bacon…_ Dean is at first amazed that his brother is deigning to cook bacon for breakfast. Second grateful, his stomach churning in anticipation. Third? Relieved that that is Cas laid out beside him. Fourth: maybe a tiny bit concerned that Sam is going to cause a flash fire, but Cas is there and… Without reservation, Dean reaches out across the small distance between them. His hand is sure as he strokes down Castiel’s back.

“Morning, Dean.” Of course his angel, their angel, isn’t asleep.

“Mornin’... Cas?”

Castiel turns and faces towards Dean, knees bent. It’s with a blush that Dean notices that his and Cas’s bodies are mirroring each other and that if you were to look at them from above they would look like—

“Are you alright, Dean?”

— _A heart, damnit_. “Yeah, actually.” Maybe he was, for the first time in a long time. There’s a chance he’d slept outta sheer exhaustion; it feels like he’d managed more than four hours.

Cas’s inhumanly blue eyes shine back at Dean and in this moment he feels like the three of them have a chance, have a shot at a future. That they’ll tie Gadreel up by the short and curlies, and show that punk-ass angel a not so great time. Abaddon will fall to them and maybe Crowley not long after. Just maybe, they’ll even fix Heav—

“Very good, Dean. I’m glad that you are alright.” Cas reaches out and strokes Dean’s hip under the covers, tipping all of Dean’s other thoughts out of his head.

Dean pulls Cas to him, their faces nearly touching. A sense of coyness steals itself over Dean for the briefest moment. He’s got Cas to himself here and there’s no Sam to tell him what he can and can’t do. Even though it’s supposedly all on the level, it feels extra deliciously naughty to have alone time with Cas.

The initial feeling of potential hangs thick in the air and then it’s gone because Dean’s focus narrows to Cas’s mouth, so close to his own as they stare into each-other’s eyes. Suddenly, the only thing to do is kiss Cas, right now.

Dean’s lips are at first gentle on Cas’s; but soon they’re both eagerly opening their mouths, wet and hot, Cas stealing his tongue over into Dean’s mouth. The morning wood Dean had been sporting is quickly becoming something else and he grinds up against Cas and the angel’s growing erection.

Their mouths break apart and Dean pants into Cas’s lips as they rest, just barely touching Dean’s.

“It’ll be time to eat, soon,” Cas says, hand sliding down between them. Dean’s cheeks burn as he flashes back to licking every single last drop of spent seed out of his brother and then off of Cas’s chest, abdomen, dick and thighs.

The angel grips them both in hand and the touch sends tingles of excitement down Dean’s spine as they rub together. Castiel’s hand begins to move in long quick tugs and Dean seizes Cas’s mouth again, licking inside, hot, slow and intent. The friction is delicious, but Cas is right— they don’t have enough time.

And if he’s being completely honest with himself, he doesn’t have the will to stop touching Cas, even for the two seconds it’d take to grab some lube so they can slide together smoothly. What he does do, however, is put a hand on top of Castiel’s.

“C-Cas… let me. Okay?”

Cas removes his hand, a whisper ghosting across Dean’s lips: “As you wish.”

Nerves thrumming like a plucked string, Dean takes in a shaky breath and grasps them both in hand. They keep kissing through the few moments of awkward fumbling it takes him to figure out how to stroke them together; Dean clean forgets how to breathe until he gets it just right and a gasp of pleasure is wrung out of him.

Breathing hot and fast, Dean is still finding it difficult to believe that he gets to have this with Cas. That he gets to have this with Cas and Sam. _I don’t know what the fuck we are going to call this and I don’t care, I just—_

Cas’s hand disappears from where he’s scratching his nails down Dean’s back and then his thumb is pushing the wet salt tang of the angel’s precome into Dean’s mouth. Shuddering, he cries out for his lover, torn between trying to press every last inch of their skin together and chasing the dizzying high of pleasure ringing through him.

With hooded eyes, Dean looks at Castiel as the angel withdraws his finger from his lips. Dean keeps his gaze, the intensity that’s always been there resounding with new meaning as Dean swipes his thumb up around the heads of their dicks and rubs them with their pre-come, causing them both to shudder and jerk.

There’s no way he’s going to last long, Dean’s having his second serving of pie after eating a whole one and there is no way he can cope with much more. Castiel breaks away first, eyes flashing with an unidentifiable look before he dives down to bite at Dean’s shoulder. His vision blurs. “Fuck! Cas! Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, Dean,” orders Cas, voice deep and demanding—reverberation that shakes Dean apart—he lets go, the tension in his gut snapping taut as the orgasm rolls through him. A part of Dean laughs in his mind at the mess they’re making in Sam’s bed, most of him is whiting out and disbelieving of how much he’s covering them both with come.

Cas’s teeth return, digging in as he buries his face into Dean’s neck, crying and jerking with resonating pleasure. It’s been short, but sweet. Dean flops onto his back, catching his breath. Coffee mixes with the bacon.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A grand, finally. ;P  
> Hope you guys enjoyed the ride.  
> \--Zeryx

Maybe Dean isn’t poison, but there’s no denying that what’s between him and his brother has become irrevocably tainted. It’s not all bad; maybe even mostly not bad. Sam’s gone and cooked breakfast two days in a row now, and hell, it’s even been tasty. They’re all sitting in the library eating breakfast.

Dean looks up from his plate, catching a flare of something dark in Sam’s eyes as he spots the bite mark Cas left on Dean’s neck. He flashes Sam a grin while popping another piece of bacon into his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas’s hand going for his bacon so he swats it away.

Sam clears his throat, casting an amused look between Dean and Cas. “Had some fun with Cas this morning, did you?”

“Yup.” Dean licks some grease off of his fingers, looks at his plate.

“Didn’t take too long.”

“Couldn’t have you burning the place down,” Dean says.

Cas’s hand rests on Dean’s thigh; he’s given up on the bacon and is nibbling on a piece of toast while he watches Sam’s face.

“You marked him up, Cas. I didn’t say you could.” Sam cuts a sharp glance at the angel, then glares at the bite mark. Dean’s shoulders tense up as he fights the urge to pull his collar higher.

“There are many things unsaid,” the angel returns calmly, chasing bacon grease around his plate with a scrap of toast.

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Yeah, about that. We are going to save you, Cas. This doesn’t end here. So not okay with you up and dying on us after showing me how awesome it is to—… to…” Dean’s words stick in his throat. He swallows thickly, grabs Cas’s hand where it rests on his leg and grips it hard enough to bruise a human.

Sam nods. “Dean’s right. Come Hell or High-water, you’re stuck with us, angel. We’re gonna fix this. Get used to the idea.”

“I think I may have had about four deaths occur wherein I did already.”

“Smart-ass.” Dean loosens his grip and shovels in a few mouthfuls of scrambled eggs, trying not to think about the blaseness his lover is showing at all the pain and grief he already caused Dean before they even started— _whatever this is_. April knifing Cas with his own seraph blade flickers across his mind’s eye and he drops his fork, mouth a thin line.

“I’ve had enough. That was good, Sammy. Excuse me.” Dean shoves away from the table, practically throwing Cas’s hand away as he stalks off towards the bunker’s garage.

Sam and Cas exchange a worried look.  
  


***

  
Dean’s deep in the guts of the Impala, going over her with a fine-toothed comb, making sure the mechanic that fixed her up put everything back where it’s supposed to be. The task steadies his hands and his nerves. _If only it was so easy to fix Cas_. Dean banishes the thought and continues working.

“Dean.”

“Hey, come out from there?”

Dean sighs in irritation. “Busy!” he looks over and sees two sets of feet, one in slippers and the other in sneakers, not making a move to leave any time soon. “Alright, fine.” He slides out from under the car and looks up, grease smeared on one cheek. “What do you jerks want?”

Sam looks over at Cas. The angel seems to gather himself, clearing his throat before speaking. “I wish to apologize for my flippancy. I have not had the unique displeasure of seeing you die, and realize in retrospect that I was… far too casual on the subject.”

“Ya’ think? Hell, you’ve got one foot in the grave right now, you dumb bastard.” Dean squeezes his eyes shut and sits up, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“You were _gone_ , Cas. Just a few months ago. I got there just in time to see that reaper ice you with your own damn blade. I’ve seen you explode a couple of times now, and Purgatory—when you wouldn’t come that might’ve been the next worst.

"What a fucked up thing this is, we are, that “next worst” is a thing. Like there’s some kind of sliding scale for how much it sucks every time you di—disappear. Like it can even be measured, Christ.” A hand comes to rest on both of Dean’s shoulders, and a long shaky exhale works through him.

“It’ll be alright, Dean,” Sam says softly, lips ghosting over his right temple.

One hand squeezes his shoulder, and then leaves; it’s Cas, gently taking Dean by the wrists and lowering his hands away from his face. Cas’s lips chase the trail of wetness streaking down from Dean’s left eye before kissing his forehead. The angel draws back to cup Dean’s chin in one hand.

“I promise I will try my best to never put you through that again. We will deal with threats from all comers, be they angel, demon, knight of hell, what-have-you, and live our lives together, the best we can. I will not be parted from either of you again, come what may.”

And the hell of it is, maybe Dean’s just a dumb enough bastard himself that they deserve each-other, because looking into those big blue eyes full of heart-breaking sincerity, he believes him.

“We’ll work it out…” Dean speaks slowly; tests the words on his tongue, like they’re an unfamiliar food.

“We’ll make it work,” Sam echoes, gaze intent; the only pair of puppy dog eyes Dean’s ever seen that can out-do Cas. The Winchesters and their angel seal the pledge with a kiss that feels like falling into eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got some ideas for a sequel. C&C will encourage us. Thanks for reading!  
> \--Zeryx
> 
> Yes, we have ideas for a sequel. But if you've read this far: I really hope you've enjoyed it :) - hit_the_books


End file.
